


Ten Things I Hate About You

by RedOrchid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And did not know important things that I know now, And falling in love with him, And that is very problematic, Basically this fic has a lot of things in common with Twilight and 50 Shades of Grey, Because I know my younger self is not alone seeing relationships in this light, Because I wrote it when I was a lot younger, Even though Hermione ends up thinking he is, F/M, I know better now, I used to think this kind of relationship was romantic, Internalized Misogyny, Marriage Law Challenge, Meaning this is pretty much a study in internalised misogyny on my part as well, References to Past Domestic Abuse, Snape is not a nice guy, THIS FIC IS HUGELY PROBLEMATIC, Which is why I'm leaving it up, lots of problematic themes, please keep that in mind when reading it, romanticised abusive relationship, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-09
Updated: 2005-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-11 12:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 51,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedOrchid/pseuds/RedOrchid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the ever-popular WIKTT Marriage Law Challenge. Snape and Hermione have to get married and neither is very happy about it. On the other hand, strong potions and compromises can get you a long way. (please read tags for warnings)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ***EDITED 2014-09-15***
> 
> When I wrote this fic, 10 years ago, this was my original author's note:
> 
> _Warnings: Not a fluffy fic. References and occasional flashbacks to domestic abuse and domestic rape (not between main characters). Both Snape and Hermione are very flawed in this. It is very angsty._
> 
> Between then and now, a lot of things have changed. I have changed. I've realised a lot of things about people and relationships--what society teaches us to like and not like, what to find romantic and desirable, and how a lot of the things we learn are deeply problematic and sometimes down-right harmful to us as individuals, and especially to young women.
> 
> Ten years ago, I did not truly know what a healthy relationship looked like. Like a lot of other women, I grew up reading romance novels, and ended up internalising a whole lot of problematic things. As a consequence, this fic is very much an expression of that. It's built around a huge imbalance of power, and there is frequent manipulation and emotional abuse. It's dub-con at best, despite of vocalised consent, and Hermione's situation is extremely vulnerable. And all of this is romanticised, idealised and excused both by the characters themselves and by me as the writer. It's every inch the classic "Dark Man with A Dark Past Becoming A Better Man From the of Love of A Woman", and the person I am now realises that it's deeply problematic on several different levels.
> 
> So why don't I just take it down? I thought about it, after being lucky enough to get a reader point out the problematic nature of this fic recently (I hadn't even thought about it in years at that point), but ultimately decided that, no, stories like this one exist all over the internet, in bookstores, and some become gigantic franchises that continue the tradition of "helping" women internalise misogyny. And while a lot of good people do point out the problems, the creators themselves usually stubbornly refuse to see the point. And I do see the point, so I guess I just want to show another example: that while you might have grown up learning things that were fucked up as hell, you can always learn something better later on. So the fic stays up as an example.
> 
> This is what internalised misogyny looks like.
> 
> Love Red

**Chapter 1 - Announcements**

By Order of the Ministry of Magic,

Every unmarried witch or wizard, of pureblood or Muggle decent, having come of age, is hereby considered subject to the Marriage Law, which will come into effect next Monday, April 15.

In order to ensure the future of the wizarding world, grievously diminished by the recent war, and avoid the tragic consequences of “pure-breeding”, which have lead to increased numbers of miscarriage and Squib births, the Ministry sees itself forced to take drastic measures to ensure the survival of the Noble Magic race and the future of Our civilisation.

All witches and wizards of either Muggle descent or who are members of a pureblood family (a minimum of four generations is required to fit into this category) will be placed in the Eligibility Pool as soon as they are of age (17). The Ministry will then, based on extensive scientific and magical testing, form suitable couples, which will be required to wed and produce offspring within the year. A magical binding will apply to each marriage until at least two magical children have been born, ensuring that the objectives of the union are met.

Signed  
Amelia Bones, Minister for Magic 

  
***

Silence fell over the Gryffindor common room as Professor McGonagall finished reading the announcement. Stunned expressions on every face, the students sat frozen, seemingly waiting desperately for McGonagall to say that it was all a joke. When the punch line never came, a few girls next to the fireplace began to cry silently, huddling in each other’s arms, trying to block the implications of what they’d just found out from their minds. Somewhere in the middle of the group of assembled students, a trembling hand rose into the air.

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

“Professor, does this mean that the Ministry will pair people up as they see fit? Is there any way for us to affect the outcome?” Hermione’s voice was shaking slightly as she did her best to keep calm.

“I’m afraid it does, Miss Granger. The Ministry will use a charmed quill on the lists of eligible wizards and witches, which will magically pair people up according to compatibility. Of course, the quill can only pair up Muggleborns with purebloods, so the theoretically perfect partner might not be in the right category. Still, there’s a good chance that the unions will at least be pleasant, though you might not think so at first. And no, Miss Granger, there’s nothing you can do to affect the outcome. Once made, the decision of the Ministry cannot be overruled. I’m sorry.”

“What happens if you refuse to marry the person they choose for you?” Ron’s voice came from close to the window.

“Then, Mr Weasley, the Aurors will hunt you down and you will face the choice of marrying your intended spouse or going to Azkaban,” McGonagall answered in a voice that was shaking slightly from repressed anger. “I sincerely discourage you from taking that path.”

“Professor, what about people who are neither pureblood or Muggleborn?” a blonde sixth-year asked from the front row.

“Half-bloods and everybody of mixed magical blood are exempt from the law, I’m very happy to say, Miss Triton. You need not worry, for example, since your grandmother is a mermaid. Your category is determined through the last four generations of your family. That means your parents, your grandparents and your great-grandparents. If all were Muggles, you fit in the Muggleborn category. If all were wizards, you fit in the pureblood category. If neither is the case, then you can consider yourselves lucky. Well, luckier in any case…”

Several people at once started shouting at this, demanding to know what she’d meant by “luckier”. Did she mean that they too, somehow, were to be affected by this insane law? After a few minutes of worried questions, McGonagall spoke again.

“As I already said, Half-bloods and people of mixed blood are exempt from the law. However, seeing as how the magical population has been reduced to only a fraction of what it used to be, the Ministry is desperate to get birth rates up. All who are of age, that is seventeen years old, will be required to marry within two months of their birthday and produce children. You will have the luxury of choosing your own partners, however.”

Many students let out relieved sighs at this. Stony expressions remained on the faces of the Muggleborns and purebloods however. Hermione and Ron were now sitting together, holding each other tightly, trying to reassure each other that everything would be ok, that the charmed quill would no doubt put them together. They were best friends, they were the same age, they’d been dating for a year and a half, they loved each other. Surely, the quill would see all that…?

McGonagall stayed a little while longer, answering questions and trying to cheer her seventeen-year-old students up a little, to no avail. The younger students soon went to bed, chattering excitedly about this law that didn’t affect them, at least not for another couple of years, while the older students just sat frozen, crying silently or trying to comfort each other. Emotions were running high and the tension could be felt through the room. Eventually, though, through the haze of worried, swirling thoughts, the older Gryffindors went to sleep as well.

***

Already the following morning, the lives of many changed.

Assembled for breakfast in the Great Hall, which had been shrunk along with the House tables to make the severely diminished number of students seem less evident, the students and teachers ate their food in silence, anxiously awaiting the morning’s post delivery. Hermione looked up at the High Table and saw Professor McGonagall talking to Professor Sprout with a worried look on her face. On her other side sat Professor Snape, dark and menacing as usual, little Professor Flitwick, who seemed totally immersed in his morning tea, and Professor Vector, the Arithmancy teacher. On Professor Sprout’s other side were Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher. That was all that remained of faculty after the last battle, where so many had lost their lives.

Dumbledore had fallen already early in the fall, making McGonagall the new Headmistress of Hogwarts. Hagrid had been killed during a mission to the giants and the other teachers had fallen, one by one, as Voldemort attacked Hogwarts one cold day in February, and met his end at the hands of the Boy-who-Lived. The teachers tried to keep the school going afterwards, but it was clear that neither their, nor their students’ hearts were really in it. To make up for the lack of teachers, classes were now made up, for the most part, of all four houses, and some of the older students helped teaching younger ones in their best subjects. Harry did DADA, though Professor Snape took care of the sixth- and seventh-years, Hermione taught Transfiguration and Arithmancy together with Terry Boot from Rawenclaw, Ron had taken over most of Madam Hooch’s old duties, like flying lessons and Quidditch practice, and Neville had withdrawn almost entirely to the greenhouses.

So many were dead. Hogwarts now held less than 300 students, divided up rather equally between the different years and Houses. 300 students, seven teachers and a handful of House Elves. Filch was gone, along with Mrs Norris. Out of the former DA, only Harry, Hermione, Ron, Neville, Ginny, Dean, Terry Boot and Justin Finch-Fletchly remained. Lavender and Parvati were gone, though Padma Patil was still alive and walking around as a constant reminder of the friend they’d lost. Luna had been killed by Draco Malfoy, after sending the curse that killed his father. Ron had avenged her death within the hour, killing Crabbe and Goyle at the same time. Out of the Slytherins that the Trio had been at odds with for nearly seven years, few remained. Theodore Nott was still alive, along with Blaise Zabini and Millicent Bulstrode, but other than that, it was all familiar faces with no names attached. One good thing had come with all the deaths though: old grudges and House competitiveness were forgotten in the strife for survival, and all Houses were now on predominantly friendly terms. Still, the lack of conflict seemed a small victory for all that had been lost.

In a flutter of wings, a flurry of owls entered the Great Hall and started delivering their messages to the waiting recipients. Ministry owls landed every here and there among the sixth- and seventh-year students, who opened the scrolls with trembling hands. At the Gryffindor table, such owls landed before Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and a handful of other people, most of them in Ginny’s year. Ginny opened hers first and then smiled tentatively.

“Justin,” she said, visibly letting out the breath she’d been holding. “Well, that’s not too bad, I guess…” She looked over at the Hufflepuff table and saw her new fiancé looking back at her, also smiling. Still a bit shaky, she got out of her chair and walked over to him.

Encouraged by Ginny’s reaction, Neville opened his scroll. He looked a bit bewildered and Ron leaned forwards, reading the name on the scroll.

“Maria O’Connor,” he said with a frown. Anybody know who that is?

“I know,” Hermione said. “She graduated two years ago, from Ravenclaw. She was a prefect. Really pretty, with long red hair. Pretty quiet, and I believe she said her favourite subject was Herbology.” Neville smiled carefully at her last comment.

“And now over to us,” Ron said with a smile at Hermione. “Hmm, hmm, I _wonder_ who they have paired me with, _who_ could possibly be a good match for me…?” he said jokingly, tickling her at the waist. With one arm around her, he started to open his scroll. “The Ministry of Magic,” he began reading in an overly-pompous voice, “is happy to announce that the charmed quill has found you a compatible partner. Effective today, you are hereby engaged to-” his voice faltered as his eyes re-read the letter, again and again.

“Who?” Harry and Neville exclaimed as Hermione slumped back in her chair with a frozen expression on her face.

“Katie Bell,” Ron said in a whisper, showing them the letter. “How is this possible? I mean… _Hermione!_ ” he exclaimed, as she jumped out of her seat and ran out of the Great Hall, her own, still unopened scroll clutched in her hand.

“Let her be for a while, mate,” Harry said heavily to Ron. She probably wants to be alone right now. I’m sorry.” And with that, he too left the Great Hall.

***

Hermione ascended the last few steps up to the Astronomy Tower, sat down on a stone bench and looked out over the grounds. It was a dull, grey day and a light drizzle wet her hair and clothes. She didn’t care. The little glimmer of hope that she would be married to someone she knew and loved had been taken from her. She’d hoped it’d be Ron, but Neville would have been alright also. And now…

Swallowing hard, she tried to pull herself together. She still had a chance of getting a good husband. There were several nice Ravenclaws, and when you added the students that had graduated the years before her, there should be a pretty decent selection. The quill was charmed for compatibility after all, she reasoned with herself. Logically, she should end up with someone she could at least learn to like. And maybe a Quidditch crazy girl like Katie would suit Ron better after all… better than a bookworm like her…

With shaking hands, she slowly unrolled her scroll and read the message written on it. A small moan escaped her lips and tears started to roll down her face as she read it, again and again, sure that she must have read it wrong, that there’d been some mistake. The words remained the same, and finally, she just sat there, not caring about the increasing rain or the wind that chilled her to the bone, unable to tear her eyes away from the fateful words that danced on the parchment before her.

__

Miss Hermione Granger,

The Ministry of Magic is happy to announce that the charmed quill has found you a compatible partner. Effective today, you are hereby engaged to Professor Severus Snape, Order of Merlin, First Class, Deputy Headmaster and Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. According to the Marriage Law, the wedding is to take place within a month from this announcement. Any questions regarding the ceremony are to be addressed to the Marital Office, where you can also book an official to perform your wedding and binding ceremony.

The Ministry of Magic congratulates you on your upcoming nuptials.

Signed  
Felicia Love  
Marital Office 

  
Severus Snape. She shuddered at the thought. She supposed they had things in common, especially on an intellectual level, and she knew Dumbledore had trusted him until the very end. Still, the thought of marrying him, having children with him, _sleeping with him_ , that nose, that hair… No, this couldn’t happen! God! How was she ever going to get through this? She briefly considered just jumping off the edge of the tower and solve her problems then and there, but quickly realised that that would be a very bad thing to do. Enough people had died without her adding to the score of her own free will. Still, _Snape_ …!

“ _Incendio!_ ” she exclaimed, pointing her wand at the offending piece of parchment and watching, with great satisfaction, how it crumbled into ashes.

* * *

**Chapter 2 - Reactions**

A Ministry owl landed in front of him on the table and held out a leg to which was attached a tidy scroll of parchment. Frowning at the owl, as though willing it to fly back to where it came from and leave him in peace, he reached out his hand and deftly untied the scroll. He sighed; it wasn’t as if he hadn’t expected this delivery. He was a pureblood, the stupid law had been passed; even a half-wit such as Longbottom could figure out what the scroll would announce – his engagement. As he broke the seal, he briefly wondered who the woman was that they’d found for him. He had a hard time picturing a woman that he could actually learn to like, and had had his doubts about the success of the charmed quill at the Ministry. Now, as he sat with its verdict in his hands though, he had to admit that he was fairly curious. Happy, no, definitely not, but curious none the less. Slowly, he rolled out the parchment and started reading from the top.

His head snapped up as he read the line announcing the identity of his fiancé. He had to go back and re-read the line three times to make sure he hadn’t got it wrong. No, no, no, no, no!!! Surly there had been some mistake?! He could not, _could not_ be engaged to… _that_. It was impossible. Utter rubbish! It just couldn’t be… Not a student! Not a seventeen-year-old _Gryffindor_ student! Not an ugly, know-it-all, utterly annoying nuisance of a student! If he had been able to, he’d have screamed out his fury then and there, but he seemed to have lost his voice, and his mouth was dry as sandpaper. Crumpling the parchment into a ball in his fist, he got up from the table and left the Great Hall in a hurry.

***

Two days later, he asked her to stay behind after Potions class. Every attempt to overrule the Ministry decision, so far, had failed. He’d given more detentions in the last 60 hours than he usually did in a month, but not even tormenting the students gave him any lasting satisfaction of late. He had seriously considered disappearing, leaving the school and going to some distant country to escape the whole damned business, but a thorough going through of the Marriage Law told him it wouldn’t help. From the moment a wizard or a witch opened the engagement scroll, they were bound to the Ministry until the wedding was over and the marriage consummated. Until then, the magical bond would allow the Ministry to find an escaped person within a few moments. It was impossible to hide, impossible to escape and impossible to revoke the quill’s decision or choose another partner. The bloody thing was air tight. He would either have to marry Miss Granger or kill himself; and even though death had never before looked so tempting, it wasn’t the way to go. He would deal with the witch.

The class ended and the students left the classroom as quickly as they could. Except one – his future bride. She slowly walked towards his desk, head bent, as if she were walking to her doom. For once, he could actually identify with her.

“So, Miss Granger, the Ministry, in its _infinite_ wisdom, has decided that we are to marry. Your thoughts?” His voice was pure ice and sarcasm. It made the hairs on her arms stand on end.

“What do you want me to say, sir? That I am thrilled to break up with my boyfriend and marry a man twice my age?” she replied silently, still looking into the ground.

“That would be a start,” he said with a leer, thoughts of a miserable and heart-broken Ron Weasley brightening his spirits considerably. If only it had been Potter...

“It doesn’t matter what either of us thinks. There’s no way out. I’ve read the fine print of the law at least ten times by now,” she continued, sounding tired and resigned. “The only way I can get out is to produce two children or kill myself. Standing here, I’m starting to really consider the second option.” Anger was burning inside her again. She knew she shouldn’t speak to one of her professors like this, and that she would probably be punished for her insolence. Since she found out she was going to marry Snape, however, every bad thing that had ever happened to her seemed to fade by comparison. She had a hard time thinking of a punishment worse than what the Ministry had already given her. She simply didn’t care about being polite anymore.

“Well, if there’s anything I can do or say to push you in the right direction, please don’t hesitate to ask.” His voice told her, in no uncertain terms, which the “right” direction would be in his mind.

“I’m sorry, professor, but I think enough people have died already,” she said, a strained tone in her voice.

“Pity,” he said softly, before standing up and motioning for her to follow him into his personal quarters.

***

He led her into a living room, dominated by an empty fireplace to her left. There were torches set along the walls, which burned with a cold blue flame. Between them were tall bookshelves, packed with hundreds of volumes. There were no windows. In front of the fireplace were a small round table and two high-backed stuffed chairs. She couldn’t really see what colour the fabric on them was in the darkness, but she had a distinct impression that they were a darker shade of blue. Carefully, she sat down onto one and turned to face her professor in the semi-darkness.

“I should wish to speak frankly with you, Miss Granger, and I would require your absolute honesty. If you refuse to give it, I will have it by force, through Legilimency or Veritaserum, it’s up to you.” He eyed her, half curious, half bored.

“I have nothing against being honest with you, sir,” she replied. “However, I would like you to be completely honest with me in return.”

“Women never want honesty,” he said with a chuckle. “You want us to tell you sweet lies and swear that it’s the honest truth, so be careful what you wish for,” he finished in a low menacing voice.

“Same thing goes for men, I believe,” Hermione retorted. “You probably don’t wish to hear what my true feelings are about you any more than I want to hear yours about me, professor. Since we can’t get out of this impossible situation, however, I don’t see what we could lose by being perfectly honest. The worst thing that could happen would be that one of us gets sufficiently upset as to kill the other. And really, even that might prove a blessing in disguise,” she finished with a slow smile.

“True, then we agree?”

“I believe we do,” she replied, shifting in her seat.

“Well then,” he began, “it’s obvious to me that the Ministry quill is not perfect and that we will have to live with its mistake. I can hardly think of any other person I would want to be married to less than you. You annoy me. I don’t like you. You’re a silly little girl and I would be thankful if we could limit the time we spend together to an absolute minimum. I think you should keep your chambers in the Gryffindor Tower. That way, we wouldn’t have to see each other more than necessary. I don’t want you invading my personal space.” He looked at her from the corner of his eye, wanting to see her reaction. To his surprise, she smiled.

“Professor, I wouldn’t want to live down here for anything. This place is horrible, frankly. So are you, now that we’re on the subject,” she continued with a sweet smile. “You’re a good Potions Master, undoubtedly, but that’s about your only good quality. I really don’t like you either and would be happy to stay away from you as much as possible.”

“Perfect. Now stand up. I have an assessment to make.”

She frowned at him in bewilderment but got out of the chair and stood before him. He eyed her intently, then raised his wand and muttered a spell she didn’t catch. A second later, she realised only too well which spell it must have been. Her clothes had disappeared, down to her underwear, socks and shoes, and she now stood completely naked before him. She gasped and tried to cover herself with her hands, but another wave of his wand made her unable to move of her own accord. As though strings were attached to her body, she felt her arms and legs move into different positions as he watched her, circling her to see every angle, touching her skin experimentally. Anger, fear and embarrassment shone from her eyes, but he didn’t even seem to notice. Finally, he sat back down into his chair and waved his wand twice. Her clothes reappeared and she regained control over her limbs.

“You dirty pervert!” she screamed, placing the chair between them like a shield. “How dare you use me like that? Watch me like that? _Touch_ me like that? You make me sick!”

“Oh, do shut up, Miss Granger,” Snape snapped and waved his wand again, silencing her. She continued to scream things at him, but since no sound was heard, he didn’t really care. He figured he’d just have to wait for her to calm down before continuing this conversation. Finally, she slumped down in the chair, not looking at him. He removed the spell.

“Why did you do that?” she asked in a quiet voice. It sounded somewhat broken. He felt a surge of satisfaction run through him.

“I needed to determine exactly how strong a Lust potion I would have to brew up to be able to consummate our marriage. Needless to say, you’re not exactly my type.”

“Oh please! You’re a man! You would jump the bones of a rock if you only could. And I know that I’m not unattractive. You shouldn’t have a problem.” He snorted at that.

“Not unattractive?” he said in a horrible mocking impression of her own voice. “Who has given you that ridiculous idea? Just because you can get an over-hormonal teenager, without any taste whatsoever, to come to your bed, doesn’t mean that you’re beautiful.” He leaned forwards, closing the space between them by a couple of feet. “I can assure you, Miss Granger, that I found you most unappealing.” He smirked at her hurt expression.

“Really? What’s so unattractive about me then?” she challenged, knowing as she said it that it was probably a very stupid thing to say.

“Do you want me to make a list?” he asked, sadistic pleasure written all over his face. “Believe me, I would be happy to. It could perhaps give you some insight and pointers for how to improve yourself…” And as she watched, horrified, he conjured up a quill and some parchment and set to work.

* * *

**Chapter 3 - Honesty**

Hermione watched in horror as her professor scribbled away on the piece of parchment before him. Every now and then he would smile broadly or snicker to himself. It was most annoying. Even worse was, of course, the fact that she knew that he was writing a list of everything he found unappealing about her. She’d always known she wasn’t one of the “pretty girls”, and decided that she didn’t even want to be. She was smart, successful and had two great friends. Why would she want to talk endlessly about make-up and hair products with Parvati and Lavender? Why should she have to conform to some fake idealistic idea of beauty? Couldn’t she just be herself?

When she’d started to date Ron, she’d thought she’d feel even better about those things. There had always been a small voice at the back of her head, which apparently wished her to be the kind of girl that would wear heels and low-cut robes and have gorgeous hair. She’d always been very successful at suppressing that voice growing up, but when her relationship with Ron happened, it became a lot harder. She knew that Ron liked her, but it was also very evident that Ron liked pretty girls. He practically broke his own neck checking them out as they walked down the corridors. During the year and a half that they’d been going out, she’d felt more and more uncomfortable with her own looks and the way he looked at her. Sure, he said that she was beautiful and sexy and that he loved her, but at the same time, that special spark in his eyes that signalled true appreciation of beauty was never there for her. She firmly maintained the principle that he should love her for who she was, however, and refused to take Parvati and Lavender up on their many offers of a makeover. She was spending a great deal more time in front of the mirror these days though, usually brushing her hair and worrying about little things that had never bothered her before she had a boyfriend.

And now, her future husband and hateful teacher was writing a list of everything that was wrong with her. It was truly horrible. How did she end up in this impossible situation? How could the Ministry do this to her? Compatible partner, indeed!!! That statement alone was positively outrageous. In the last hour, Severus Snape had shown just how little he cared for her, how little he respected her, how he saw her more as an object than a person – an object to be dealt with and observed according to his fancy. She dreaded what this could lead to…

A lightening anger suddenly flared in her. She wouldn’t let him treat her like that! She was an adult witch and magically very powerful. She’d scored higher on her OWL’s than anybody in the last fifteen years at Hogwarts, and her NEWT scores should be even more impressive if things kept going the way they had. She’d helped defeat Lord Voldemort and had been awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class by the Ministry of Magic for her bravery. She was not a silly little child that could be ordered around. She figured he was very unhappy with having to marry her, something she could relate to as the feeling was entirely mutual. He was taking his frustration with the Ministry out on her, controlling and humiliating her since he couldn’t control his own life anymore. It was petty behaviour, but she wasn’t overly surprised. She’d learnt over the years, from her own experiences and from talking to Harry, that Snape was a man with rather petty feelings. He wasn’t fair, he wasn’t nice, he bullied the students and punished people for things they hadn’t done. He’d terrorised Harry for close to seven years on the main grounds that he looked too much like his father. He was stubborn and vile, and it seemed like he took a very long time to forgive a wrong done to him, if he ever did. The list he was writing at present was a typical thing for him to do. She had no doubts that it would be very nasty. Another bolt of anger surged through her, and she conjured a quill and a piece of parchment for herself. Two could play this game.

***

Severus Snape put down his quill and looked over to the girl sitting in the chair before him. He smiled. Writing the list had been fun, reading it to her, breaking her down, should be even better. The girl had been a constant source of irritation ever since her first day at Hogwarts. He could still recall her pathetically desperate want for attention during her first Potions class. How she’d actually _stood up_ to try to catch his attention and get to answer the questions he was shooting at Potter. Questions he’d _known_ that Potter wouldn’t been able to answer. Questions he didn’t expect anyone under third year to be able to answer. And there she’d been, little Miss Know-it-all, practically bursting with desire to prove herself to him. He’d despised her from the very start.

Hermione, too, put down her quill and looked back at her professor. Their eyes locked as the challenge was issued, none of them blinking, neither backing down. It was an intense silence, filled with a multitude of emotions and fears. Finally, he spoke:

“Well, Miss Granger, it seems as though you’ve finished your sad little task. I would be very much surprised if there was anything on it I haven’t already heard, and even more so if there was anything there that I could possibly care about. But no matter, you’ll get to read your little list. It should prove quite amusing. How many points have you got?”

“Ten.”

“Tut, tut, I’m sure either of your annoying friends could have thought of at least five times that number, but then you always did strike me as the least creative of the group…”

“How many do you have?” She chose to ignore his last comment, knowing that he was just trying to provoke her.

“Also ten, as a matter of fact,” he replied silkily. “I figured I had better focus on the main things as I didn’t particularly fancy spending the next week in this chair writing a novel.”

“My thoughts exactly,” she shot back, which seemed to faze him momentarily and she could swear she’d seen the corners of his mouth twitch. Hers did as well. The situation was really very funny, in a pitch-black, depressing sort of way.

“Very well,” he said, clearing his throat. “Ladies first.” Hermione also cleared her throat and held the list in front of her.

“Number one: your hair. It’s greasy and disgusting,” she stated, keeping a firm hold on her wand in case he got angry and tried to hex her. He simply smiled, a very disturbing smile.

“My, my, Miss Granger, aren’t we the pot calling the kettle black. After all, your own hair could easily qualify for the “hopeless case”-picture in the ads for magical hair formula. It’s absolutely awful, and the first point on my list, I might add.”

“Indeed, perhaps we do have some things in common,” she said sarcastically. “Well then, on with number two: your face.”

“And what would be so objectionable about my face?” he asked in silky tones. She felt rather sure that he was mocking her.

“I would have thought it too obvious to point it out, but since you insist…” She shot him an evil grin. “Your nose is too big, your skin is really sallow, your eyes have no colour to them and your teeth are simply awful, all yellow and uneven,” she explained happily.

“I see. Well, I consider myself lucky compared to you. Your face is plain. Uninteresting. You lack proper bone structure, your eyes are a normal, boring colour, your brows need plucking and your skin is dry. A typically English plain-Jane. How fitting that that should be your middle name.” His smile grew more unpleasant with every word.

“How do you know my middle name?” she asked, trying to disguise the fact that his words had hurt her deeper than she thought they would.

“It was in the engagement notice the Ministry sent me. Which leads me to my point number three: your name.”

“I like it, something I can’t say of ‘Severus’ though,” she replied tensely.

“Well, my father was drunk when he chose it. Apparently, I didn’t smile as much as babies should. My mother wanted to name me ‘Alexander’, with the hope that I would one day become a great man. Speaking of which, did your parents choose ‘Hermione’ based on Shakespeare or the Greek myth?”

“Shakespeare, why?”

“Oh, I just think it’s quite fitting. Just imagine how the weasel king is going to react at the prospect of his gentle queen in the arms of the dark opponent. Only, unlike the play, his worries would be actually justified…” His smile was now turning into a leer. “And you even had your brief tenure as a statue. My, my, perhaps your mother and Trelawney should get together sometime.”

The thinly veiled insults made Hermione absolutely furious. She wanted to scream, to hex him, to cause him considerable pain, but knew that if she gave in, he would consider her defeated and proceed to treat her accordingly. She couldn’t afford it. She had to calm down. Taking deep breaths, she tried to push her thoughts and emotions away, clearing her mind, focusing on a point on the floor. Forcing her heart to slow down, she looked back at her parchment.

“Number four: your clothes. Black really isn’t your colour.”

“Neither is it yours, Miss Granger,” he countered smoothly, “it makes you look quite washed out.”

“Number five: the way you talk. Were you born this unpleasant or is it a skill you’ve acquired over the years?” This would probably not cause him much harm, she thought. After all, he seemed quite proud whenever one of his students showed significant distress because of something he’d said.

“I could ask you the same question,” he replied with a smile. “Why do you have this constant need to be validated by everybody else? Why do you continue your impersonations of a human parrot and a talking encyclopaedia? Don’t you realise that you come off completely desperate, that people will despise you? That your act of regurgitating facts simply isn’t appreciated by anyone.” He’d got her with that one, he realised gleefully. She looked ready to cry. He hoped she would.

She was back in her first year, hearing Ron tell Harry how horrible she was. Tears rose in her eyes and she started to run away, wanting to lock herself somewhere and escape the world. It was true, she had no friends, everybody hated her. The same morning, she’d overheard two of the girls in her dormitory whisper to each other about her, throwing pitiful glances at her over their shoulders. She didn’t know what she was doing wrong. Why didn’t people like her? The teachers did, she could tell, except for Professor Snape, who’d snapped at her. What else would she have to do to get their approval? Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she ran through the corridors, only to have her flight abruptly stopped by strong arms grabbing her own and giving her a little shake. Blinded by tears and not knowing where she was, she reacted on impulse, throwing her arms around the man before her and hugging him tightly, burrowing her face against his neck, needing someone to hold on to, someone who would not push her away. Unfortunately, she’d picked the entirely wrong man to fulfil those needs.

“Miss Granger! Control yourself,” Snape snapped, pushing her hard, breaking her hold on him. She staggered backwards, confused, trying to pull her mind together, to figure out where she was. Looking around the room and finally setting eyes on her very angry Potions professor, standing a few yards away from her with his arms crossed, it dawned on her and she looked up at him in horror.

“Professor, I’m sorry,” she stammered, “I didn’t mean –”

“Silence!" Snape spat, “Sit down.” She did and he advanced on her, list in hand, like a predator circling his wounded prey, preparing for the final blow. “This was a poignant example of my point number six, Miss Granger, you lack self-control.” Before she could answer, he continued, “Number seven: your friends. I sincerely hope you don’t think they’ll be coming around for dinner once we’re married. Number eight: your silly, idealistic ideas, based on arrogance and ignorance of the wizarding world, such as your ridiculous mission to free the House Elves.” He again smiled at her, and it still wasn’t a very pleasant smile. She wanted to argue back, but found that something in her kept her down, silent, tears continuing to run down her face. “And, last but not least, number ten,” Snape said, his smile growing wider, “You lack all forms of sexual appeal. You lack the purity of a virgin, but neither do you possess the sensuality of a woman who knows the secrets of passion. You’re too thin for my taste, looking more like a boy than a girl – no hips, no breasts, no curves anywhere. Your legs are too short and haven’t been properly rid of hair. Your skin is tolerably smooth and even but could use some moisturising lotions. And, in general, you need to pay more attention to your body hair. I prefer women to have very little of it.”

He moved away from her, leaving his list in her lap and sat down in his chair with a satisfied sigh. She still didn’t move. She felt frozen, broken, lost. How could she marry this man? Sleep with him? Have his children? How could she spend the next several years (at least) with a man who so openly acknowledged that he hated her, despised her, wanted nothing to do with her? Lost in depressing thoughts, she didn’t realise that Snape was speaking to her until he repeated her name.

“You wanted honesty, Miss Granger,” he said with a smirk. “Like I said before, you should be careful what you wish for.” He stood up and walked over to the empty fireplace, looking into the darkness. “It’s quite evident that we would both, under normal circumstances, be very unhappy together. However, being a Potions Master makes things a lot simpler. Lust can be brewed, attraction can be bottled, and even love can be created over the dancing flames of magic. I think we’ll do just fine.

“But, sir, those feelings… they wouldn’t be real. It would all be an illusion. We would still hate each other in real life,” she protested.

“Ah, reality, such an ambiguous term,” he smiled, poking the ashes with a metal rod. “Tell me, Miss Granger, how can you be so sure that _this_ is reality? In a magical world, where everything can be changed and modified in a myriad different ways, who is to say what is actually real? Suppose that I were to give you a love potion tomorrow, without your knowledge, one of the slow ones that will infiltrate your system over a couple of months. The change in your feelings would be so gradual, you would most likely believe it to be genuine. Would that love then be real or just an illusion?”

“An illusion,” she stated firmly.

“You have never struck me as a philosophical person, and like most Gryffindors, you’re most attached to the notion of truth. You only believe what you see with your own eyes, is that correct?” She muttered her agreement. “I don’t blame you, I used to be much the same, you see, but living my life in the grey zone for the past twenty years has somewhat muddled that point of view. Between Legilimency, Occlumency, mind control and memory control, you soon learn that truth is entirely subjective. Truth, like reality, is easily manipulated and, to a skilled wizard, something that can be altered according to his will. And really, Miss Granger, would you rather live a pleasant illusion or a miserable reality?”

She hesitated. The idea of living with Snape, the way he was and with the feelings she had now, made her turn pale. On the other hand, she didn’t trust magic that affected what she considered to be herself. Her feelings were her own, nobody could take them from her. Unlike most of her friends, she considered Memory Charms highly unethical, and she had spent several nights fighting with Ron on the subject. To her, modifying someone’s memory was just as bad as using the Imperius Curse. It was a violation of another’s mind, and even though she saw the usefulness, she thought they should be banned. She didn’t want to live a lie.

“I would prefer reality. At least then I would know that I was still me.”

“Then you are more a fool than I thought you were,” he said in a low voice. “Well, it’s your choice. I however, will not unnecessarily torture myself. I trust you are aware of the fact that the Ministry binding requires the couples to spend at least five hours of every day in close physical proximity and to consummate the union at least four times a week. I can assure you that I won’t suffer those requirements being as I am now. Or rather, with you being as _you_ are now. I will take a simple potion, which will alter your appearance in my eyes, and to my touch, into a woman more my taste. To other people you will still look the way you do now, but to me, in my mind, and for all intents and purposes, you will be highly attractive. I believe I shall quite enjoy myself,” he finished with a grin.

She was speechless. The thought of having him on top of her, that greasy hair falling over her face, four times a week made her feel slightly sick. She didn’t even enjoy it that much with Ron, and she loved her boyfriend. And to lie there, knowing that the man with her didn’t even see her, that he saw her as somebody else, somebody beautiful, would be even worse. She didn’t think she could bear it. Maybe she should just take the potion as well…

“Professor, if I were to take that potion, what would it do to me?” she asked nervously.

“Well, it would turn me into your idea of a very attractive man. You would still dislike my personality as much as you do now, but you wouldn’t really care anymore. You would love what I do to you and, no doubt, hate yourself for it, unless you’re able to shake those ridiculous ideas of truth and reality from your head and accept your situation. Then I think you could actually be quite content with your lot in life.”

“But it wouldn’t be real.”

“As I said, that depends on how you define reality. To me, it will all be very real, I assure you.”

She bit her lip in indecision. What if it really was that simple? Take a potion, change reality, accept your situation, have a chance at happiness… Really, when she thought about it, could things actually get any worse? What did she have to lose? _Except your soul?!_ a small voice in the back of her head shouted. A shiver ran through her and she swallowed hard.

“Alright, I’ll do it,” she said, looking up at him. He merely shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s your choice. Though I must say that I think it’s a very wise one. Perhaps there is hope for you after all…” His voice was cold as usual, but a small smile was playing around the corners of his mouth. He was obviously pleased that he’d convinced her, she thought.

“So when will the wedding be then,” she asked, changing the subject. “The Ministry demands it to be performed within a month.”

“How about this Saturday? No point in delaying such a _blessed_ event.” The sarcasm was back now, but a little softer than before, she noticed. “I suggest a small ceremony, without much fuss. If you want your family to be there, fine, I don’t particularly care. I just want it over with as quickly as possible.”

Hermione thought of the many weddings she’d imagined growing up. Each one different from the others, but all romantic and full of love. Her parents had married for love, and she’d always taken for granted that she would do the same. She’d promised herself that when she walked up the aisle to pledge her love, fidelity and devotion, she would do it to a man she loved with all her heart and knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. To have that dream taken from her hurt more than she could have imagined it would. She didn’t want a beautiful wedding with her professor. It would feel like a mockery of the dream she’d nurtured for so many years. She might be able to find another man she could truly love once this first marriage was over, but it wouldn’t be a first and only wedding. Because of this stupid law, she could never fulfil that promise to herself. It really hurt.

“Yes, I think that will be acceptable,” she answered quietly. “Let’s keep it simple, I don’t want any fuss either. As a matter of fact, I would prefer to keep it entirely private. Is there any way we could just go to the Ministry and get it over with?”

“We could simply appear in front of one of the officials at the Marital Office, I suppose,” he said, surprised and relieved at her lack of enthusiasm. He’d always hated big weddings, all that fluff and flowers and kisses… Irk, he got sick even thinking about it, standing in front of several hundred people, smiling like an idiot in uncomfortable dress robes. A quick visit to the Ministry suited him perfectly. Ten minutes and it would all be over with. He probably didn’t even have to change his clothing.

“Then let’s do that,” she said. “They have people to be witnesses, don’t they?”

“Absolutely, I’ll make an appointment and owl you about the time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Miss Granger…”

“Hermione.”

“Pardon?”

“I think that if we are to be married, we should at least start calling each other by our first names. It would be very odd otherwise.”

“Very well. But not until we are married. It’s something I will have to get used to,” he said. _Indeed,_ he thought to himself, _she’ll be the first person that isn’t a colleague or a Death Eater to do so in a very long time._ He didn’t call people by their first names very often. He liked titles, they made it easier to keep the distance. And then, there was of course the fact that he didn’t particularly like his given name. _Something we have in common,_ he thought wryly.

Hermione rose from her chair and left the room while he was still lost in thoughts. He wouldn’t have to deal with her again for another couple of days, he thought with satisfaction. He was still extremely unhappy with the Ministry’s choice, but figured that with a couple of strong potions, it wouldn’t be too bad. And if she blabbed too much, he could always silence her, or gag her, he thought with a smile. He planned to mix her Perception Potion with some common lust potion as well. If he were to sleep with the girl, he wanted her uninhibited and passionate, and he had a distinct feeling that those weren’t qualities that young Mr Weasley had manage to awaken in her. Not that he was surprised, the boy was an utter moron. The more he thought about it, the more he started looking forward to bedding the girl. He would love to watch her struggle to maintain the claim that she loathed him while her body betrayed her mind under his touch. He wasn’t worried about his abilities in bed. The little know-it-all wouldn’t know what hit her. He smiled to himself. This would be an interesting challenge indeed. And with the girl turned into a beautiful woman, it might even be pleasant. His smile wider, he picked up the list she’d left on the table and started reading her last five points of things she hated about him.

__

6) Your injustice and favouritism.  
7) The way you treat my friends.  
8) Your past as a Death Eater.  
9) Your depressing living space.  
10) How you don’t respect me.

  
He smirked to himself. Like he’d said, nothing surprising, nothing he hadn’t heard before and nothing he really cared about. With a swift movement, he threw the piece of parchment into the fireplace and pointed his wand at it. Seconds later, a roaring fire was warming the room, and he sat back down in his chair, summoned a book from one of the shelves and spent the rest of the afternoon in considerable comfort and peace of mind. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 4 – Changes**

Saturday morning found Hermione sitting frozen on her bed. The last couple of days had passed in a haze, where she’d been too emotional to make much sense out of anything. She’d had a talk with Ron, but he’d been far too caught up in his own problems to listen to her. They had been avoiding each other after the engagement announcements came, neither wanting to deal with the situation. She had figured that since they were a couple, they ought to talk about it, but she just didn’t know what to say. She’d felt a lot of things, most of them bad since she was, after all, engaged to Snape now, and her feelings when it came to Ron were very mixed. They didn’t quite correspond to what she thought she _should_ feel in the situation she was in. She supposed she should have been heartbroken because her boyfriend was taken from her. Instead she felt numb. If truth be told, she and Ron hadn’t had such a good relationship. They’d fought a lot, and over the last months, as the war had escalated and finally ended, they had seemed to drift apart even more. They hardly spoke anymore, Ron having plunged himself into Quidditch and she into books to fill the gap of lost friends and family. They’d still slept together at times, but it had felt more like routine than anything else. She’d never enjoyed it very much, and now it had been worse than ever. If she were to be completely honest with herself, their relationship had probably been doomed even before the law was passed. It wasn’t really surprising that the charmed quill hadn’t put them together. They simply weren’t such a great match. Then again, the quill had matched her with Snape, so she could only assume that it was highly unreliable… What had hurt her most, though, was that Ron hadn’t even asked who it was she was going to marry. He’d said that he didn’t want to know, that not having a name made it easier for him to pretend it wasn’t real. She couldn’t believe him. At a time when she really needed his love and support, he just wasn’t there for her. Then again, she guessed they were all caught up in their own problems as it were. She hadn’t told Harry, Neville or Ginny about Snape either. When it came down to it, Ron had a point – by not telling any of her friends, it made it easier for her to pretend that it wasn’t real. Sadly, pretending did nothing to remedy matters, and here she was, on her wedding day, sitting alone on her bed, wanting the time to stop or for a miracle to happen, which would give her a way out of her impending marriage.

Nothing of the sort happened, and she stood up with a heavy sigh, going into the bathroom to shower and get dressed.

***

A few hours later she was back at Hogwarts, walking next to her new husband as he lead the way down towards the dungeons. The ceremony had been brief and unpretentious. Sensing that this was no love match, the Ministry official had tactfully removed most of the romantic phrases and shortened his speech to an absolute minimum. He’d performed some spells to ensure that the law was followed, including a Binding Spell and a Fidelity Charm. Then he’d wished them good luck and much happiness. It had all been over in less than ten minutes.

And now she was walking to her husband’s quarters for her wedding night. It wasn’t even night, but the Ministry binding dictated that the deed be done within five hours of the wedding. They had agreed it would be better to just get it over with, but now, Hermione started to question that decision. After all, another hour without having to sleep with Snape would be a good hour.

Inside his bedroom, he motioned for her to take a seat in front of the fireplace and she did. He walked through a door to her left and soon came back, carrying two goblets in his hands. He placed them on the little table in front of her and took a seat in a chair across from her. She looked at the goblets, then at him, then into the burning fire.

“Is that - ?” her questions was left hanging in the air as her voice broke.

“It’s a dose of Perception Potion, mixed with some calming and arousing draughts,” he supplied calmly. “Have you made your decision about whether you wish to drink it or not?”

“I don’t know,” she almost whispered. “I know it would make things easier, but I just don’t know if I could live a lie, knowing that the things I saw and felt weren’t real.”

“Well, as I said, it’s your choice. But as I explained before, the Perception Potion doesn’t in any way alter reality, it just alters your perception of it. We will still be the same in every way - it’s all a chemical variant of the old saying ‘beauty lies in the eye of the beholder’ really.”

“But you wouldn’t see _me_ ,” she protested. “How can I be with you knowing that you see somebody else and that you’re only touching me because you’re drugged and magically obligated to do so?”

“If only I were that fortunate,” Snape drawled sarcastically. “I’m afraid we’ll both be very much aware of each other’s identities. The Fidelity Charm prevents magic that alters appearance sufficiently for the mind to imagine another person in the spouse’s stead. If we were to take, for example, the Polyjuice Potion, we’d both be in considerable pain.”

“So how exactly does it work then?” Hermione asked. Despite herself, she was beginning to grow very interested in the unknown potion in front of her. She didn’t think she’d ever heard of it before.

“It’s quite simple actually. When you drink the potion, your perception of me will start to change in accordance with your own tastes and desires. As I said, it cannot change a person beyond recognition, so the end result will be rather like a very successful makeover, to use a word your young female mind should be able to comprehend. The potion will affect all five senses equally, meaning that if you see something, you’ll also be able to feel it, smell it, taste it and hear it, and there will be no sensory indication that what you see isn’t real.”

He watched her face intently, sure of his victory. She would drink the potion, despite her ridiculous principles about reality and truth. He’d been bluffing when he said that she could choose to drink it or not. He wanted her to, and would make sure she did, for the simple reason that a willing woman was so much easier to deal with than a non-willing one, and so much more gratifying to take in the end. Seeing as they were to be bound together for at least a couple of years, he’d rather not start by forcing her and making her hate him even more. Not that he particularly cared about her feelings, but he did want to make this cursed marriage as pleasurable for himself as he possibly could. And having a wife who hated him, feared him and tried to fight him at every turn would be very tedious. Better then to have her drink the blasted potion and seduce her utterly. After all, seeing the girl fight with herself, hating herself for loving him - now that would be entertainment…

Smiling, he raised his goblet and watched her do the same. They shared a silent toast and then drained the goblets in unison. The liquid caused Hermione to go bright red in the face and cough violently.

“Christ, what was in there?” she spluttered. “It feels like my throat is burning up!”

“Tequila,” he answered calmly. “I thought some alcohol would help you relax a little.” As an afterthought, he summoned a bottle of Firewhiskey and two tumblers from his cupboard. Being drunk would definitely facilitate matters.

As he poured the drinks, he noticed that his new wife was eyeing him very much like one would eye a snake poised to strike. She looked very nervous.

“So,” she said, voice trembling.

“So, what?” he countered, enjoying her unease.

“Shouldn’t we… well, you know,” she managed, indicating the bed with a tilt of her head. He let the question hang in the air for a while, handing her a drink and leaning back in his chair.

“Well, as flattered as I am by your impatience to get me naked, I must admit that I’d rather wait for the potion to kick in first,” he answered with a smirk. “Plus, I’d like to be a little drunker than I am right now.” He chuckled at her embarrassed expression. “The potion will be fully active in about an hour, I suggest we entertain ourselves otherwise until then.” With a flick of his wand, a deck of cards appeared on the table, along with two piles of plastic chips. “I trust you know how to play poker, Hermione,” he said, enjoying the look of surprise in her eyes. She nodded her head and he dealt the first round.

***

Fifteen minutes later, the game was in full motion. With the help of the alcohol, they were actually starting to have fun. Snape discovered to his pleasure that Hermione was actually a very good poker player and wondered how that came about. She answered that she’d been playing with her friends on almost every weekend since their sixth year. She added that she always used to win. He smiled at that.

The potion was starting to affect him too. He watched happily as Hermione’s hair was smoothed out from a poofy, frizzy mass of curls to flow down her back and shoulders, all smooth, straight and silky. The colour also changed, he noticed, from a dull brown colour to a dark red, almost black, which reflected the light from the fire in a most enticing way. He watched, transfixed as her eyes turned a bright blue and her lips filled out slightly and were painted a rich dark red. Her skin also gained colour, her cheekbones coming out and her eyes being properly defined by dark lashes and properly plucked brows. The skin itself turned a creamy hue, he could almost feel how soft and perfect it would be under his fingers. Things were looking good indeed.

Hermione was equally surprised. She watched her new husband as his sallow skin changed to a slightly tanned tone, his nose became a bit smaller and his eyes turned a bright blue. His hair, his disgusting, greasy, shoulder-length hair, seemed to grow back into his scalp until it was quite short and very nice. It remained black, but the greasy quality was definitely gone. He smiled, and she noticed that his yellow, uneven teeth had changed into a ray of white perfection. There was still no mistaking his identity - this was still Severus Snape, but a Severus Snape suddenly looking quite attractive. She shifted in her chair, suddenly a bit uncomfortable by sitting so close to him. ‘ _Must be the alcohol,_ ’ she thought, looking back at her cards.

After another round (and another drink), Snape spoke again.

“Care to make this game a bit more interesting?” The smile he threw her told her that she probably wouldn’t like his idea.

“How?” she asked, suspicion in her voice.

“Well, we are married, but without really knowing each other. I thought it would be interesting to exchange these chips for something more personal. The winner of each round decides what he wants the loser to do, or say for that matter.”

“Dare poker,” she said with a chuckle, the alcohol definitely flowing around in her system now. “Isn’t that a bit juvenile?”

“Well, considering that you are scarcely more than a child, I think it rather fitting. So, are you in?” He looked at her with those electric blue eyes and she suddenly felt herself blush. ‘ _You’ll have to sleep with the man, what harm would a game of poker do?’_ she asked herself, smiling.

“Alright, I’m in.”

“Excellent,” he replied, dealing the cards.

A couple of minutes later, he put down a flush on the table, topping her three nines. With a satisfied smirk, he leaned back in his chair, going over the possibilities. His smile widened.

“So, Hermione, tell me, is Mr Weasley as untalented in bed as he is with a cauldron?”

“Worse actually,” she said without thinking, slapping a hand to her mouth as she heard what she’d blurted. “I didn’t mean to say that,” she whispered, mortified.

“Well, you know what they say, ‘in vino veritas’. Only in this case, it’s to be taken rather literally,” he smirked, indicating her glass with his eyes. She immediately put it down.

“You put Veritaserum in my drink?!” she shouted, anger flaring inside her. How could he?! That was illegal!

“Yes,” he replied calmly. “No reason to get so upset. You’re the one who asked for honesty in the first place. Now calm down and answer my question properly.”

“I already did,” she murmured, leaning back in her chair and taking deep breaths. She was still furious for having been drugged, but then she realised that he’d been drinking from the same bottle. Revenge would be sweet…

“No, you gave a simple answer, very open to interpretation. I suggest you elaborate a little. So tell me, what did he do to you to earn your last comment?”

She didn’t want to tell him, but words kept wanting to come out of her mouth nonetheless. She gave in after a couple of seconds. Ron was far away, she was drunk and under the influence of Veritaserum, what harm would it do? Giving a deep sigh, she began telling her sorry tale:

“Well, I don’t know really. We started sleeping together at the end of last year and it just didn’t appeal to me that much. It was all pretty clumsy and sweaty, and at first it was over very quickly. I thought it would be better later on, but it never was. When it started to last longer, I just got bored, it seemed like it took forever for him to finish and I just wanted to go to sleep. We talked about it and he tried some new things, but nothing he did ever got me off. I don’t know, maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe I’m just cold, frigid…” she looked down into her lap, not meeting his eyes.

“Did you ever have an orgasm on your own?” She blushed profusely. He sincerely hoped she wasn’t actually frigid. That would be a problem. Lust potions didn’t usually work on those who didn’t have any sexual feelings. Finally, she nodded her head, clearly embarrassed. He gave a sigh with relief. “Well then, come over here.”

“Wh-what?” She looked up at him, a spark of fear in her eyes.

“Come over here,” he repeated, keeping his voice as low and silky as he could. “I want to show you something.” She started to get up, but then sank back into her chair and threw him a defiant look.

“Sorry, Severus, you already used your victory from last round. If you want me to come over to you, you need to win a new one.” His first impulse was to snap at her for her insolence, but then he thought better of it. She clearly wished to provoke him. Well, he’d show her… Smiling, he picked up the deck and dealt a second round.

***

“Now, come.” Three kings smiled smugly at three queens across the table. Hermione shot him a look of pure venom and walked over to where he sat, slightly unbalanced from the alcohol. “Sit,” he said, indicating his lap. She reluctantly complied, straddling him the way he indicated and looking into his eyes. Two warm hands snaked their way up her back, pressing her against him, and she shivered slightly as they started massaging the muscles in her shoulders, working their way down her spine.

“Tell me what you feel, Hermione,” came Snape’s voice from close to her ear. Seemingly of their own accord, her own hands went around his neck, starting to play with the short hair. It felt great.

“I feel…” she didn’t know where to start, “…warm,” she said, moving her hands along his neck and shoulders. “A bit tingly.”

“And now?” he murmured, letting his mouth wander across her neck until he found the sensitive spot beneath her ear and started sucking, while one of his hands went into that gorgeous red hair and the other stroked the underside of a breast lightly.

“Warmer…” she whispered, her breath coming faster and he felt her pulse speed up under his lips, “…heavy, tense…” He kissed his way down her neck towards her collarbone, moving the fabric at her throat aside to get better access. The hand in her hair massaged her scalp in slow, hypnotising circles, while the other hand wandered down across her stomach and around her waist to squeeze her ass firmly before it wandered back to its original target.

“And now?” he asked in his best seductive voice, still working the sensitive skin on her neck with his lips, tongue and, occasionally, teeth.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, pressing against his hand.

He swiftly complied, letting go of her neck and pulling her down with a strong grip at the back of her head. As soon as their mouths came into contact, he moved his tongue to deepen the kiss, pleasantly surprised at finding her mouth already open and ready for him. He felt her press harder against him and increased the pressure of both lips and hands. One hand holding her head in place, the other started to undo the buttons at the front of her robes. She tried to protest, but he just kissed her more ardently and pressed her closer, wanting her to feel the heat that was quickly rising in his body. She moaned, first in protest, then in pleasure as he slid a hand inside her robes and expertly caressed her left breast. A quick movement behind her back opened the clasp of her bra and he felt the soft skin against his fingers. Perfect. The Perception Potion really was a glorious invention. Instead of the flat chest he’d seen before, he was now fondling a soft roundness, generously sized, yet firm in his hand. He would have to see it to be sure, but he guessed she was about a D-cup now. Seriously, who wanted reality when you could have this, he thought, playing with a nipple between his thumb and index finger. She let out another little moan, and he decided that he didn’t have anything to worry about. The girl was most decidedly not frigid. He smiled at the thought.

Careful with his movements, so that she wouldn’t feel he was pushing her away, he ended the kiss and looked back into her face. She was flustered and her lips pouted prettily at him, slightly swollen from the treatment they’d just received. He moved his mouth close to her ear and took his time to play with it before he whispered:

“I believe this round is over. Go back to your seat.”

She pulled away and looked at him with an expression that shifted from puzzled incomprehension to confused anger. Then she got a calculating look in her eyes and slipped from his lap without a word, letting her open robes fall to her feet as she did. Casually, she shrugged off her bra and stood before him in only her knickers, her body illuminated by the fire. A voice inside her head was screaming that this was madness, but another, more drunken one, told her to play the game. She could feel the lust soaring through her veins, whether provoked by his touch or the potion she didn’t know, and frankly, she didn’t much care at the moment. He’d been right, reality really was overrated. Everything that had just happened to her felt real, she’d looked at him and he’d looked real, felt real. She’d drawn her fingers through his hair without them getting even remotely greasy. She’d caressed his shoulders and felt tight muscles under her hands. He’d kissed her, and nothing about how her body had reacted to his kiss had felt like an illusion. Firmly, she suppressed the little voice that kept insisting that everything she felt was the result of a potion and that this was bad. If she had to do this, she might as well try to enjoy herself.

“How do I look?” she asked, imitating the husky voice he’d used earlier, meeting his blue gaze that just finished its inspection. This time, as he watched her, she didn’t feel nearly as exposed as she had last time. This was a different kind of inspection, one that made her skin grow hot wherever his eyes touched her.

“Better than anticipated,” he answered, leaning back in his chair and watching her lazily. “You’re not the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, but you exceed every expectation I had before this. I especially like the hair, it makes me want to lie down and have you run it over my body, feeling the silky texture against my skin… Do you really want to know how I see you?” he asked, a mischievous smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Please.” She was really very curious, especially about her hair. She figured it was probably blond, men seemed to like blondes.

“Knowledge comes with a price, Hermione,” he said, picking up his wand and summoning a tall mirror from across the room. “If I let you look into this, I’d like something in return.”

“Such as?” she asked, wondering what he could possibly want from her that the Ministry had not already guaranteed him.

“I’d like you to follow some simple instructions,” he said with a grin, “entertain me a little.” She figured he probably wanted her to strip out of her knickers. Fine, she could do that, she thought. It suddenly dawned on her that she didn’t need to feel self-conscious about her body anymore. To him, it would be nice, perfect even, and without her having to worry about shaving or exercising or any of the troublesome things that she’d felt obligated to do when going out with Ron. She nodded her head, and he levitated the mirror over to her, placing it so that he could still see her and watch her reaction.

With a nervous feeling in her stomach, she turned to face it, and let out a loud gasp. Looking back at her through the glass was herself, no doubt about it, but a version of herself she’d never even thought was possible. Red hair, so dark it was almost black, reached almost to her waist and she could see what he’d been talking about – the silky smoothness instead of her brown poof was an incredible improvement. Her eyes then met the ones in the mirror. Electric blue, the exact same colour as the ones looking at her from a few feet away. She smiled and let her gaze wander lower, taking in her new curves. He obviously liked curves, she thought, considering how voluptuous her mirror image was. It looked really nice, she decided, very feminine. Had the reasonable part of her brain not been completely knocked out by the alcohol, it would have reminded her that she didn’t care about how she looked. Now, she just looked happily at the image in the mirror, feeling completely at ease with her body for the first time in… well, ever.

She wondered if she herself could feel her new body the way he’d said he would. Experimentally, she ran a hand over one breast and cupped it gently. It felt just as flat as she’d remembered and a pang of disappointment surged through her. It wasn’t real after all. For a second, she was actually jealous of Snape, but then the practical voice in her head (which had roused itself from the stupor momentarily) took over and pointed out the advantages with her current situation. The body before her was beautiful, certainly, but it wouldn’t be practical to walk around with all the time. People would stare at her, she wouldn’t be able to find bras that fit (Parvati had used to complain loudly about that, she remembered) and she’d have to use a lot of lotions to keep her skin that smooth. Not to mention shaving and peeling and all those other things she didn’t bother with on a daily bases. Still she wished she could feel what he’d feel…

“There is a way,” came his voice from close by her ear. She jerked her head around and saw that Snape had come to stand right behind her. Confused, she looked back into the mirror but couldn’t see his reflection. Amused by her shocked intake of breath, he moved in front of her and the mirror image changed to a reflection of him. Now it was she who didn’t have a reflection. Most odd…

“The mirror only shows one person at the time,” he said, looking at his new self in a scrutinising way. “Classsic,” he murmured, turning to face her. “As I said, Hermione, there’s a way to make you experience your body the way I will.”

“How did you know?” she stammered.

“You’re not the first woman who I’ve seen in front of that mirror, touching her skin and looking at her reflection with longing. All women secretly wish to be beautiful, I believe that’s in your genetic code.”

“I resent that, it’s very sexist,” she replied trying to rouse some anger or logical argumentation in her mind, but failing miserably. It seemed that most feelings and thoughts had gone to a deep, liquid-induced sleep. What she felt now was mainly arousal at having him so close. She blamed the potion. The potion and the alcohol.

“Be that as it may, it doesn’t change your desire,” he said in his silky voice, moving a hand over her face and body, strategically avoiding all the spots she really wanted him to touch. “There’s a charm to make you see yourself as I see you. It’s the same charm as I put on that mirror. It only lasts for a couple of hours each time, however.”

“That’s fine,” she whispered, trembling slightly under his touch now. Without a word, he retrieved his wand, said an incantation and a golden light hit her. She looked back at the mirror and found that the image hadn’t changed. With trembling hands, she felt her body and discovered that the sensations corresponded to what she saw. She looked down and saw full breasts and a slightly rounded stomach. She grabbed a strand of hair and marvelled at how soft and silky it felt. She suddenly felt very sexy.

“I think it’s time you paid your price,” Snape said softly, coming up behind her again. “Undress me.”

“Wh-what?” she stammered. This was definitely more than she’d expected. She wasn’t sure she was ready for that yet. Then again, she had to admit that her addled brain was very curious to find out what was hiding under all that black fabric. Shivering slightly, she turned around to face him, moving her hands up his chest, starting to undo the first couple of buttons…

***

Minutes later, they were on the bed, working each other into a frenzy. She’d unbuttoned his robes and then just gaped at the body before her. If his mind was creative when it came to beauty, it was nothing to hers, apparently. Unable to resist, she’d moved her hands over the silky, slightly tanned skin, over the well-defined muscles in his chest and stomach. She’d stepped closer to be able to run her hands over the muscles in his back, and felt something hard press against her stomach. Instead of making her freeze like she’d expected it would, it had sent a jolt of heat through her, and whatever little reason was still there had unceremoniously left the party. Instinct had taken over, instinct and lust, and she’d suddenly been overcome with a desire to know what he tasted like. Reacting on her impulses, she’d bent her head and begun kissing his chest, while her hands worked their way lower across his hard stomach, reaching the waistband of his boxers and letting a timid finger slip beneath it, pulling down in an excruciatingly slow way. Before she’d been able to finish her task, he’d put one arm around her back and another under her knees, lifting her up and kissing her hard.

And now she was lying on her back with him half on top of her.

Severus Snape was thanking the gods and, more importantly, the Potion Masters before him for turning a dreaded task into a most pleasurable event. The lust potion, Perception Potion and the alcohol combined had turned his annoying, unattractive student into a right little nymph. The lust potion had taken a firm hold of her now, he could tell, making her act on every sexual impulse that went through her body. She didn’t seem to be able to get enough of him, her hands and lips moving over every inch of his upper body in a most enticing way. A small hand was working its way down his stomach again, touching the fabric of his boxers and then moving away. He smiled and moved his own hand down her back, slipping it beneath the fabric of her knickers and squeezing her ass firmly. She gasped and pressed against him, moving her hand inside his shorts to touch him in much the same way. He continued to caress her ass and she mirrored his movements, her breathing now becoming very fast. To distract her, he captured her mouth and kissed her thoroughly, while the hand on her ass slowly made its way across her hip, pulling the fabric down in the process. She continued to follow his lead, and the two scraps of fabric soon lay forgotten at the foot of the bed. He carefully moved his hips so that his shaft would caress her inner thigh, moving up and down the sensitive skin. Meanwhile, his hand started to tease her in earnest, circling her most sensitive areas and touching her everywhere except where he knew she’d most want him to touch her. His thumb massaged her wet opening and she pressed against him with a moan, wanting his fingers deeper. Instead, he moved higher, circling her nub with absolute precision, allowing his fingers to touch the target only on every tenth stroke. He alternated between the two techniques, while still kissing her and rubbing against her thigh. It was working beautifully.

His breath was suddenly caught in his chest as he felt her hand slide over his stomach and grasp him firmly. She began stroking him, feeling him out, measuring him with her fingers. Judging from her quick breathing, he concluded that she was happy with what she’d found. Moving his hand away from her, he grasped hers and showed her how to stroke him to greatest effect. She grasped the technique quickly and he was soon clenching his teeth in concentration as she further ameliorated her movements by cupping his sac every now and then. Letting his own fingers move over her with greater intensity, he shifted his weight and positioned himself at her entrance. She eagerly thrust against him, but he drew back, allowing only an inch or so to slide inside, moving it around, teasing her. Holding himself up on both arms, he pulled out again and let the top glide across her folds, reaching her nub and continuing the task his hand had had to abandon. She moved her hips to increase the pressure and he did a sharp intake of breath when he again felt her hand encircle him, guiding his movements as he moved against her. She was panting and it was obvious to him that it wouldn’t be hard to make her climax. He moved back to her opening, and both her hands placed themselves on his hips, urging him to take her. Again, entering her only with an inch or two, he leaned down and placed his face very close to hers.

“What do you want, Hermione?” he asked, moving his tip lazily inside her, feeling her muscles clench around him, trying to draw him in…

“You,” she breathed, “I want you inside me.” He let himself slide a tiny bit further, then stopped again, despite her protests.

“And?” he whispered in her ear, nibbling it gently.

“And, what?” she moaned, moving restlessly against him.

“Where else would you want to be touched?”

“Nowhere,” she groaned, “I just want… please!”

“Really?” he said silkily, moving his mouth down to the sensitive spot on her neck and sucking hard. “Not even here?” His mouth wandered south and settled on a round breast, kissing and biting her nipple with vengeance. “Or here?” he said, placing soft kisses on the underside before taking the nipple in his mouth again. “Or here?” he whispered, tilting his hips so that his hair brushed against her nub.

“Yes,” she moaned, unable to control her body anymore as she moved feverishly against him.

“Well, since I only have two arms, which I need for balance, you will have to help me with that,” he said slyly, smiling at the confused look in her eyes. “Touch yourself, Hermione.” He saw the hesitation in her eyes and repeated the request in her ear, before kissing his way down her neck. Shyly, she moved a trembling hand to one breast and cupped it carefully. He rewarded her with a deep thrust, which made her cry out in pleasure. Her other hand also went to her breasts, and he watched, mesmerised, how she teased the lush flesh with her fingers. He moved harder inside her and felt her hips meet his every thrust.

Leaning down, he kissed her again and shuddered as her hands began alternating between stimulating her breasts and caressing his chest and back. The tension in his body was mounting much quicker than he would have liked, and he cursed himself for not having mixed an Endurance Potion into his drink earlier. Then again, who would have thought that his new wife was able to enflame him to such an extent… Propping himself up on straight arms again, he tilted his hips so that he would hit her cervix. She started to move her head from side to side, mumbling incoherently. But it wasn’t quite enough…

“Hermione, move your right hand lower,” he ordered, and was pleased when she complied without hesitation. Moving one leg over his shoulder, he increased the rhythm, making the tension rise to unbearable levels. Finally, when he felt that he couldn’t hold back anymore, he heard her cry out and felt the wonderful sensation of her inner muscles contracting around him. He managed to ride her orgasm for a few seconds before losing control and finding his release with a last deep stroke. Breathing hard, he kissed his way down to her knee, removed her leg from his shoulder and lowered himself to rest on top of her. She opened her eyes and looked at him, a smile spreading across her flushed face.

“Thank you,” she whispered, pulling him down to place a soft kiss on his lips.

“For what?” he asked, voice shaking as his lips left hers.

“For persuading me to take the potion,” she replied, those amazingly blue eyes making something stir in his very soul.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled, before lowering his mouth to hers again and getting lost in their kisses.

* * *

**Chapter 5 - Desire**

Severus Snape woke up with a horrible hangover. With the practiced movements of a man who’s been in that situation many times before, he gingerly reached out and retrieved a phial of Hangover Potion from the perpetual store in the drawer of his bedside table. With a deep sigh of relief, he downed the blue liquid and felt pain and nausea magically disappear with a few deep intakes of breath. He lay back against the pillows feeling quite cheerful, a very odd feeling for him in the morning, and briefly wondered why that was. His gaze went to the girl lying next to him and he smiled. Last night had turned out far better than he’d expected. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in a very long time. Perhaps this Marriage Law would turn out to be a good thing in the end… at least he would be getting laid on a regular basis. And when he wasn’t getting laid, he could always tell his wife to stay the hell out of his chambers. She probably wouldn’t even mind. Just because they’d spent the night having great sex didn’t mean that they actually liked each other.

Hermione was stirring next to him and rolled over on her back with a groan. Reaching over to the bedside table, he retrieved another phial of potion. For a moment, he considered bargaining with her over it, like he’d done with the enchanted mirror, but he figured that her gratitude would probably be more beneficent to him in the end than her sense of obligation. He turned onto his side, watching her struggle to open her eyes.

“Good morning, wife,” he said, hard-pressed to keep himself from laughing at her obvious discomfort. “How are we feeling today?”

“Like I’ve been trampled by a Hippogriff,” she groaned. “Sweet Merlin, I’ll never drink Tequila again!”

“Here,” he offered, putting the phial to her lips. She quickly swallowed and he watched as the expression on her face changed from excruciating pain to relaxed bliss. He studied her face as she breathed, noting that everything looked just like it had the night before. The make-up wasn’t smudged and her hair flowed over the pillows, a little tousled perhaps, but still very smooth. He let his eyes wander lower, reaching out a hand to touch the smooth skin and remove the tangled sheets. She lay still with her eyes closed, seemingly enjoying his ministrations. When he reached a breast and began circling it with his finger, she suddenly opened her eyes and rolled around to face him.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” she asked, a nervous quiver in her voice as she pulled the sheets closer against herself.

“I thought that would be obvious,” he smirked, pulling her into his arms – sheet and all – and began nuzzling her neck. She struggled in his grip.

“No,” she protested, “no, we already fulfilled the binding requirements last night…” Her voice was growing weak as he worked his way down her neck.

“So?” he asked between kisses.

“So we don’t have to do… _this_ for another two days,” she tried to argue, trying to break the grip of his arms.

“Actually,” he drawled, one hand having found a way into the sheet and was now caressing the smooth skin on her thigh, “the Ministry regulations requires consummation four times a week, but it doesn’t state anywhere that those times have to be spread out over different days. Technically, we fulfilled the whole week’s requirement last night, and are thus not obligated to do _this_ \- as you so eloquently put it - again for another seven days.” He moved his hand over her stomach and felt her shiver against him.

“Then why won’t you let me go?” she asked in a whisper, looking up into his eyes with an almost tearful expression.

“Because, Hermione,” he said, moving the hand on her stomach up to cup a full breast, “I want you.” He moved her fingers to play with a nipple and found it already hard and ready for his touch. “And moreover, you want me too,” he continued matter-of-factly. “You liked what I did to you last night, you can’t deny it. You can hate yourself for wanting me, but it won’t change the fact that you do. You’re hiding behind the law to justify your actions, telling yourself that the only reason you acted and felt the way you did last night was because you were magically forced to. You don’t want to deal with the fact that you gave yourself over to me so completely, _of your own free will_ , and that it took you higher than anything you’ve ever experienced before.”

“You’re wrong… I was drunk… there was a lust potion…” she started. He silenced her with a searing kiss, which she tried to escape at first but then melted into, stroking his tongue with her own and moaning softly.

“The lust potion wore off after the first two hours,” he said, letting go of her lips and looking back into her blue eyes, “not long before the arousing effects of the alcohol.” He pressed her tighter against him, pleased to find that she didn’t struggle as much this time. “If my memory serves me right, we didn’t go to sleep until close to midnight, and we came back here after the wedding at around three in the afternoon.” He smirked at her. “Our first time together was for all the ‘legitimate’ reasons, I agree – we were drunk, drugged, obligated by the law and so forth. The rest of the night, on the other hand, was all our own doing, I’m afraid. No one and nothing forced us then,” he whispered, moving one hand to her face and caressing her skin in an almost loving way. “You should always be careful what you wish for, Hermione… you wanted something _real_ in the face of arranged marriages and manipulative potions. Well, you got your wish. Your desire for me is most definitely real.” He illustrated his point with a long caressing stroke down her stomach and thighs and she instinctively eased her legs apart to allow him better access.

“You want me, Hermione,” he whispered huskily in her ear, stroking her, making her press against his hand. “You want what you know I can give you, what I can make you feel. You can hate me as much as you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that you love what I do to you. Don’t deny it, girl, just give in…” He repeated his last words again and again, stroking her faster with his hand and placing his lips so close to hers that he could almost feel them. Moving yet a little closer, he eased his tongue out and stroked her parted lips. With a moan, she pressed her mouth against his, kissing him feverishly as she moved against him. He smiled a triumphant smile and pulled her up on top of him.

***

A couple of hours later, they were having Sunday brunch in the chairs by the fireplace. Hermione was looking into the fire, too many thoughts swirling around her head at once. Severus was reading a book, not paying her the slightest bit of attention. His plan had been to throw her out of his chambers as soon as they got out of bed, but she hadn’t shown any indication that she wanted to leave and he figured that as long as she didn’t disturb him, he could just as well let her stay until she grew bored, and avoid a potentially long and tedious fight about what he could and could not decide with regards to her. Really, he had more interesting things to occupy his time.

He started to feel her eyes on him about half and hour later. At first, he just ignored it, but when he’d finished the chapter he was reading and she still hadn’t relented, he looked up, putting the book down in his lap.

“Yes, what is it?” he asked, irritation clear in his voice. She jumped a little.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you,” she started.

“Well, now that you have, just get it out and get it over with,” he continued, sounding very bored.

“It’s just… There’s just something I would like to know concerning the Perception Potion,” she said. He nodded his head for her to continue. “How long will its effects last? I didn’t expect to see you, well, the way you were last night, when I woke up this morning, but you’re exactly the same.”

“So are you, Hermione,” he said, letting his gaze sweep over her pretty form. The hair still enthralled him. “Even though you can’t feel it for yourself anymore.”

“Then how long does it last for?”

“As long as we want it to last. It’s not limited by time but reversible through a counter-potion.” He looked at her quizzically, “Surely, you do not wish to negate its effects?”

“Well,” she started, “I’m not sure. I still feel very uncomfortable with this potion. I just feel… shallow,” she finished in a low voice.

“Naturally, since you _are_ shallow,” he replied in a casual voice. “Most people are, and I’m most certainly one of them. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know, and there’s nothing wrong with realising how the world is built up and using people’s prejudices to your own advantage. Horrible as it may sound to you, people prefer beauty to plainness and would rather sleep with someone they find physically attractive than with someone they do not. Those are the simple rules of engagement, and you can either whine about them or use them to make your own life easier. I prefer touching you as you are now to what you were before. I prefer to run my hands over this body, rather than the one I’ve seen in class over the passed seven years. I prefer to run my hands through smooth dark silk rather than a brown tangle. Can you really blame me for this, Hermione? It’s a shallow way of thinking, I agree, but is that necessarily a bad thing?”

“I-I don’t know.” She felt very confused. His arguments were so logical, yet she had a feeling inside her telling her that he was wrong.

“Consider this,” he said, piercing a piece of watermelon with his fork and putting it in his mouth. “In your average relationship, both parties usually spend a great deal of time worrying about what their partner thinks of them. The tiniest imperfection turns into a giant complex and people do all sorts of inane things to try to appear more attractive to said partner. Shaving, grooming, make-up, hair treatments, exercising, sun tanning, rejuvenating potions, facial creams and fashion – these are all more or less expensive, time-consuming and painful ways to alter your appearance in the eyes of the person you’re attracted to. It’s the exact same thing as using the Perception Potion, only less effective.” She still looked unconvinced. “Let me ask you a question.” He leaned closer to her, piercing her with his blue gaze.

“Sure,” she nodded, puzzled.

“During your relationship with Mr Weasley, did you alter your appearance in any way for his benefit?”

“No, not really… well, I shaved my legs and did some exercises every night.”

“And do you plan to continue with that now that you’re no longer with him?” he asked.

“Well, not really,” she admitted, “I don’t see why I should waste my time with those things anymore.”

“Because of the potion or because you despise me?”

“Both,” she replied icily, “but mainly because I despise you. You don’t deserve smooth legs.” He smirked at that.

“Then what irony that that’s exactly what I’ve got,” he said, waving his wand to pull her chair, with her in it, to his side and take one leg in his lap. “You see,” he started as he stroke his hand across her skin, “to me, this is perfection. It doesn’t matter what you do or don’t do, to me, this leg is long, slim and incredibly smooth.” He kissed her calf seductively.

“But it’s not!” she protested. “It’s bristly, the skin is dry and the thigh is too chubby.”

“Not in my reality,” he said. “Come here, I want to show you something.”

“What?” She looked up at him with a half worried, half expectant expression. He pulled her out of her chair and into his lap, opening the buttons down the front of his robes and placing her hands against his chest.

“There, describe my chest. How does it feel to you?”

Wonderful, she had to admit, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. Not in such flattering terms anyway. “It’s rather muscled and smooth,” she said.

“Any hair?”

“Just a string going down your stomach.”

He grabbed one of her hands and put it to the left on his stomach, placing her fingers over a long scar he’d received in a duel many years back. “And here, what do you feel?”

“I don’t know, smooth skin and well-defined abs?” She was getting a little annoyed, not to mention uncomfortable. She really didn’t like that he could affect her this way.

“And here?” he persisted, moving her hand to a spot two inches above his heart where the marks of cigarette burns his father had given him as a child were still very visible.

“The same, all smooth” she replied, trying to sound bored and ignore the fact that she was growing rather flustered.

“And are these things that you see and feel real?”

“I don’t know, are they?” she countered. He only smiled and lifted her back into her own chair.

“Do try to see beyond the notions of truth, reality and beauty that society has brainwashed you with, Hermione,” he said, looking quite serious now. “The Perception Potion doesn’t in any way change who either of us are, nor how we will see each other in the long run. Right now, we are virtual strangers, forced by Ministry law to live together and procreate. Removing the issue of inexistent physical attraction just makes things a little easier. It removes the stress and pressure of working to attract one another, because no matter what happens, you will always appear desirable to me, and vice versa. Your hair can reach a new level of frizziness and I will still feel it like silk under my hands. I can not wash my hair for a week and you will still draw your hands through it with an expression of rapture on your face. Whatever complexes you might have about your body you can forget, because to my eye and to my touch, they will never exist. When with me, you will be free of all anxiety relating to your body and how you feel about it. You will be free to explore where it can take you, without fears and uncertainties holding you down. You will know, for sure, that at all time I will look at you and think that you’re beautiful, which ultimately means that we can both stop focusing so much on how we appear, and learn more about who we actually _are_. We will be bound together for several years, Hermione, and it will pass a lot quicker if we can just get along for a few hours a day. Last night, we discovered that we are very sexually compatible, and that will make things easier than I thought they would be. We still rather detest each other in most other areas, and only time will tell if we will find common ground there as well. As it stands at the moment, however, I think it would be wiser to build on what little ground we have, instead of throwing a giant – and, may I add, _unnecessary_ \- obstacle in the way. Open your mind and see the potion for what it is – a way to free yourself from the social pressure weighing down your body and mind, a way to just let go and be yourself, and a way to show me who you really are without having to be judged in advance on your appearance. Cease defining yourself by how your body looks. Just open your mind and be free. With me, in this cursed marriage, you actually have that opportunity.”

He went silent, studying her face, wondering what effect his words would have on her. He believed strongly in what he’d just said, though he’d put in some sugary sweetness and marital hope mainly for her benefit. He found that the anger and disgust he’d felt when he first found out he would have to marry the girl were ebbing away. Left was the realisation that the life he’d lead for his entire adult life, as a spy and a double-spy, was over and that he needed to construct something new for himself. Practically everybody he’d ever had some sort of relationship with – friends, enemies, old masters – were dead and gone. He had nothing left of his life, except for his job, which was probably why he stayed at Hogwarts despite having to teach incompetent little brats. At 38, his life was as empty as it had been when he was a child, and all the years of playing different roles for different audiences had left him unsure of who he actually was. Truth be told, he wouldn’t actually mind finding that out, and who knew, perhaps this new child bride of his could be of use. She was in much the same situation, and her friends being forced to marry would isolate her even more. Maybe they could make each other’s lives a little better for a while - unless they killed each other first, that was. And if it turned out they really couldn’t get along, well, there was always the original plan of having sex and otherwise keep out of each other’s way…

“I need space to think,” she said, getting out of her chair and walking across the room to the door. She paused a little in the doorway and turned half-way back to him. She opened her mouth several times as if she were to say something more. In the end, she settled for a weak smile and walked out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 6 – News**

Pregnant.

She looked again. There was no mistaking it, the crystal clearly glowed blue when she put it on her stomach. She sighed and held it out before her, not sure of what she felt. It had been three weeks since her marriage, and when her period hadn’t come three days earlier, she had become suspicious. Now she had proof. She found she was shocked but not really surprised. She was seventeen after all – at her most fertile – and she’d been having sex daily for the past three weeks. It would have been a surprise if she hadn’t got pregnant. She sighed again. The Ministry would be happy. This was, after all, the reason they’d come up with the inane law. Question was only, was she? And what would her “husband” (she still had problems with calling him that without flinching) think about it?

She put the crystal in her pocket and leaned back in her chair, looking out the window. She was up in her old dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, only it’d been shrunk now that she was the only one living there. She liked to come up here to think, to get some space and to be alone. The past three weeks had gone by in a haze. It felt completely unreal. Normal life seemed like a lifetime away. Everything was upside down. She’d hardly talked to her friends since the Marriage Law was passed – everyone was just so busy worrying about their own problems. She hadn’t even told her friends she got married yet. She wondered if they’d be upset when she did. It wasn’t that she was afraid to tell them, she just felt like her married life was so completely separated from everything else that it felt weird acknowledging it as a part of her reality. Plus, she didn’t know where to start, and she knew all her friends would be very upset and express how sorry and disgusted they were for her sake. She wasn’t sure she wanted their sympathy and a litany on the flaws of Severus Snape. She knew about them already. Heck, she’d even written a list.

She popped a chocolate from a box on the floor in her mouth and thought about the past weeks. The only thing she could say for certain was that she was very confused. After their conversation the morning after their wedding, she’d concluded that perhaps the Perception Potion really was a good idea and decided not to drive herself crazy thinking about it anymore. It had worked for a little over two weeks, during which they hadn’t really seen each other much, except for in the bedroom and in other places suited for bedroom activities. It had been fun, she had to admit it. Fun and very satisfying. She found that with a good lover, sex really could be a great way to spend your time. She closed her eyes and remembered they way he would slide along her body, touching her everywhere, driving her crazy with need before finally entering her, thrusting hard, making her his…

There it was again, one of the words that had bothered her so much lately – “his”. She couldn’t explain it, but every time they were together, she felt so possessed by him, like clay in his hands, waiting for him to shape her. She didn’t like it in the least, because it went against all her thoughts and principles about relationships, and what she hated most was how much she liked feeling this way when she was in the middle of it. With Ron, she’d never felt that way. She had been his girlfriend, but she’d never been _his_ , not the way she was with Severus. It was amazing that a man she didn’t even like could make her feel this way. Amazing and worrisome. She felt emotionally drained by him, as though he was taking her soul along with her body.

The other thing that had bothered her over the past week was that the potion seemed to be losing its effect. Not in the sense that the sallow-skinned, greasy-haired Potions Master was reappearing, but in the sense that the blue-eyed, handsome man in his stead didn’t appeal to her as much as he had in the beginning. It just felt shallow, all of it. It was too perfect, too beautiful, too sexy. His skin was smooth, his features flawless. His body held no secrets, no stories of things it’d been through in the past, no clues to who he was as a person. She found it very frustrating.

He’d been right, her desire for him was real, and she’d come to accept that. It wasn’t his body she desired though, not really. It wasn’t his strong arms and hard stomach that made her all hot and tingly - it was the way he moved against her, the way his hands caressed her skin. It wasn’t those incredible blue eyes that made her want to rip his robes off and take him to bed, it was what she saw in them, that burning look that told her he wanted her. And even though his short hair was gorgeous, she had a feeling that she wouldn’t much care what it looked like when she entered it with her hands to grab the back of his head and pull him closer to her in ecstasy… She’d thought a lot about it and figured out that if she hadn’t known about the other reality (the one she’d seen for close to seven years), or if she’d been an outside observer of someone else in her shoes, she would have decided that the potion was a very good invention. She actually agreed with Severus, that was the most confusing part. She agreed with every argument he made in favour of the potion and had come to accept the point of view that reality, like beauty, lay in the eye of the beholder. But she couldn’t stop the little voice in her head that was telling her that she was living a lie. She couldn’t smother the yearning for something “really real”. She knew she was being inconsistent and that her logic was flawed, but somehow, her body didn’t seem to care about logic. She just wished… she didn’t know exactly what she wished for.

She wondered if he felt the same, or if he was perfectly happy with shagging her curvy, silky-haired, redhead self every night. She supposed he was; dating Ron had taught her that men valued looks as one of the higher qualities in a girlfriend. To be honest, she’d always, on some level, expected that Ron would one day dump her for someone prettier and felt that she was more of a stand-in than an actual girlfriend to him. She’d always denied those feelings when they were going out, but now that it was all over, she saw things more clearly. He’d loved her, no doubt about that, but she suspected that it had been more of the love for a friend, with the added benefit of regular sex. She didn’t much care anymore, but wondered if Severus was the same. Sometimes, she got the feeling that there might be something more, sometimes when he looked so deep into her eyes that she felt like he was looking into her soul. She knew he needed his wand for Legilimency, so she didn’t worry that he was spying on her thoughts, but still… there had been a searching look in his eyes, like if he too was looking for the person beyond the face.

Someone knocked on the door and she turned her head in expectation, calling a “come in” to whoever was behind it. Ron, Harry, Ginny and Neville all entered, each carrying food and drinks in their arms. At her questioning glance, Harry said something about the kitchens and a trip to Honeydukes, after which they pulled up some chairs and a table, setting their booty down and sinking down into their chairs.

***

“What are you guys doing here?” Hermione asked, a little surprised to see them all at once after weeks of almost no interaction.

“Well,” Ginny said, “we thought we should come and see you. It’s been awhile since we last had a proper talk.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “I just realised today that I hadn’t really talked to you in over three weeks. I don’t know how that happened.”

“I do,” inserted Ron, “we’ve all been going crazy from all this marriage stuff – teamed with the worries for the upcoming NEWTS, I might add. It’s been just nuts, Hermione, I’m sorry. And sorry I ran away like I did last time we talked,” he added, twirling a chocolate frog between his fingers nervously.

“It’s alright, Ron,” she replied, “it was completely understandable.”

“Still,” Neville cut in, “we should have realised that you too needed some love and support. So here we are.”

“Thanks guys,” she said, feeling her throat thicken a little at the gesture. It was nice to know that your friends were still there for you. “So, tell me, what’s going on? Ginny, how are you and Justin getting along?”

“Oh, quite fine actually. I don’t turn seventeen until August, you know, so I don’t have as much pressure on me as you guys do. We’re mainly getting to know each other better right now, and it’s going well. I think I’m even falling for him a little. He’s really sweet.” She smiled, and Hermione could see that she looked rather happy.

“Well, I’m glad for you,” she said, smiling back at her friend.

“That reminds me! We’re planning the wedding for this summer, August 25 to be exact, and I would like you to be my maid of honour. Will you, Hermione? Please?”

“I’d love to,” she smiled and then turned to her other friends. “And you guys, how are you doing?”

“Er,” Ron started nervously, “Katie and I are getting along pretty well, I guess. We’ve mainly been playing Quidditch and talking and stuff.” Hermione noticed that he didn’t quite meet her eye. She figured he and Katie were probably doing more than just flying and that Ron was feeling guilty talking about it in front of her. She searched her feelings for jealousy but found that there was none. Again she asked herself if what she’d had with Ron had really been love. It seemed to have died awfully quickly and without much pain…

“That’s great,” she said, getting a surprised look from Ron, who also looked a little dismayed at her calm, she thought. “What about you, Neville?”

“Well, Maria is really nice,” he said, hesitantly. “I like her. I’d like to spend more time with her before getting married, but I think it’ll be fine. She’s training to be a Herbologist and we’ve spent most of our time together out in the greenhouses where she works. It’s really amazing. I’m going to join her there as soon as we graduate. I’ve wanted to do the same thing for ages so it really fits. I think the Ministry quill might have been right,” he finished, blushing a little.

“And you, Harry?”

“I don’t know. I just feel lost. You all have been told _who_ you have to marry. I’ve only been told _that_ I have to marry and that I only have another five weeks to make my choice. You got a month, I have two, but I have to _find_ someone in that space of time. I hate this whole thing,” he said bitterly, looking down at his butterbear.

“So there’s no one you fancy?”

“Sure there is,” Ginny cut in, “Harry just refuses to admit it.” Harry shot Ginny a deadly look.

“Who?” Neville wanted to know.

“Cecily Triton, you know the blonde girl who asked McGonagall a question when she read the law to us. She’s in my year, my dormitory actually, and she’s really nice.”

“Is she the one who’s a quarter mermaid?” Ron wanted to know.

“Exactly, though not one of the ugly ones we have here in the lake at Hogwarts. Apparently, her grandfather met one when he was in Greece on vacation. Oh come on, Harry!” she exclaimed, rolling her eyes at Harry’s ugly looks. “You like her and you know it. Ask her out before it’s too late. One of the Ravenclaw seventh-years has also got his eye on her, and unless you want a repeat performance of your fourth year, I suggest you get things going.” Harry just stared down at the table.

“Anyway,” Neville said, trying to change the subject. “Maria and I are getting married next Saturday at St Paul’s chapel outside London. Her parents are Muggles so we’re having a Muggle wedding, and I have to wear something called a frock coat. Do you know what that is, Hermione? She tried to describe it to me but I just don’t get it.”

“Well, it’s a bit like robes if you cut them off at the top of the thigh and made them fit closer to your body. Wait a second and I’ll draw you a sketch.” She summoned a quill and parchment from her desk, then remembered something. “Or actually…” She went over to her nightstand and looked inside one of the drawers. At the bottom, under a stack of _Ars Alchemica_ was a battered old bridal magazine. It was one she’d bought when she’d first started going out with Ron and was entertaining silly fantasies about possible future romantic weddings. She brought it over to the table and flipped through the pages. Finding what she was looking for, she pushed the magazine over to Neville. “There, that’s a frock coat.”

Neville, Ron and Ginny looked fascinated at the pictures, flipping through the magazine and commenting on the different crazy ideas Muggles came up with to wear. They all agreed that the frock coat was acceptable though, and Hermione saw Ginny look longingly at some of the gowns. She especially seemed to like the veils, and explained that witches didn’t wear them at weddings.

“So, Ron, when are you and Katie getting married?” Hermione asked, tearing her eyes away from the pictures in the magazine. But not fast enough. Ginny turned the page and there it was, her dream gown, the one she’d been looking at for hours, even transfiguring the model in the picture to look like her from time to time. It was a simple gown with an empress cut, full skirt and short trail; it was sleeveless and with a pretty pattern of pearls and silver at the top and along the hem. She’d pictured herself wearing it with a short veil and orchids in her hair. Now that dream looked very distant. She swallowed hard.

“… nothing fancy,” she heard Ron say and realised that she hadn’t been listening. “Hermione, are you alright? She heard his voice again, sounding worried. “You look so pale.”

“I’m fine, she stammered, reaching across the table to grab some more fudge. The sudden movement made the crystal slip out of her pocket and Ginny picked it up.

“What’s this?” she asked, looking at Hermione. “It looks like…” The voice died in her throat as she met her friend’s eyes.

“What is it?” Ron asked, leaning across. Ginny looked at her uncertainly, keeping the crystal in her hand. Hermione felt herself draw a deep breath.

“It’s a Conception Crystal,” she said, taking it from Ginny and putting it down on the table. “I’m pregnant, I just found out.”

The room went very silent. All three boys were staring at her. Ron looked as though he’d been hit with something heavy over the head.

“B-but h-how?” he spluttered. “H-how is that possible? I mean –”

“It’s not that difficult,” she said in a tired voice, strengthening herself with a big piece of fudge for what she knew she would have to tell them next.

“B-but,” Ron continued, “You can’t be! I mean, we used protection charms and stuff!” She stopped chewing mid-bite.

“Ron-”

“God! What am I gonna tell Katie?! Bloody hell, Hermione, how is all this gonna work out now?”

“Ron, wait, it’s –”

“And the bloke you’re marrying, how’s he gonna take it? The Ministry’s gonna go mad! Fuck! I can’t believe this is happening to me…”

“ _Ron!_ ” she almost shouted, “Shut up and _listen_ to me!” He did, as well as the other ones who were just starring at her in disbelief. She reached inside the neck of her robes and pulled out a thin gold chain, reminiscent of the one she’d used for the Time-Turner in her third year, and showed them the thin gold band hanging from it.

“I’m married. It’s not your baby, Ron.”

The looks of disbelief now changed into pure incredulity. Ron was gapping like a fish, clearly at loss for words. Harry was the first to speak:

“When? And why didn’t you tell us?”

“And who are you married to?” Ginny added, taking the ring in her hand and looking it over.

“Three weeks ago, the Saturday following the engagement announcements,” she started, uncomfortable. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I didn’t want it to feel like a real wedding and I thought it would be easier if no one I knew was there.”

“But, Hermione,” Ginny interrupted, “you’ve been dreaming about your wedding since you were little. I know you have. We used to talk about what kind of flowers we would have and where everyone would sit at the reception! Why would you throw all those fantasies away?”

“Maybe she just couldn’t wait to marry the bloke,” Ron said, a flustered look on his face. “Maybe they were already seeing each other before the notices came, maybe that’s why it had to be so quick. Three weeks seems like an awfully short time to get pregnant, eh Hermione?” His ears were red and she felt her anger rise as well. The cheek of him!

“Or maybe,” she answered in an icy voice so very like that of her present husband, “maybe I didn’t want to make a mockery out of my dream by using it with somebody I didn’t love. Maybe I just wanted to get it over with so that I wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. Maybe I didn’t tell you because I was trying to tell myself that it wasn’t real!”

She stood up, swaying slightly and shaking with repressed anger.

“Do you want to know what name was on my scroll, Ron?! Severus Snape, that’s who! I’m married to our dear Potions professor and knocked up as well. Do you really blame me for being in denial? For not telling you guys? For not having a big, romantic wedding where I could wear a beautiful gown and promise my undying devotion to a man I hated?!”

“ _Snape?!_ ” four voices cried in unison. “Please, _please_ tell me you’re kidding,” Neville added.

“I’m sorry, Neville, but I’m not. I’m married to Snape and, believe it or not, it’s working tolerably well. We both dislike each other and stay out of the other’s way as much as possible,” she replied tiredly.

“B-but you’re _pregnant_ ,” Ginny said in a small voice. “You have to… ew!” She looked positively revolted and Hermione felt an odd pang of anger at her expression.

“It’s not that bad,” she retorted, wanting to take that look of disgust and pity off all of their faces. “He being a Potions Master helps things along quite nicely. And,” she added, seeing Ron’s revolted face and feeling something snap inside of her, “he happens to be just as good in bed as he is with a cauldron. Judging from the amount of time we spend having sex, I would be highly surprised if I didn’t get pregnant within a few months. I guess three weeks was just me getting lucky,” she finished sarcastically, stood up and walked out of the room, leaving her four friends sitting around the table with shocked expressions on their faces.

***

She almost ran down the stairs, wanting to get away from her friends, from her life, from everything. She rounded a corner and suddenly collided with a tall body. Looking up, she saw the familiar face of the man responsible for her current emotional turmoil.

“Miss Granger, please try to look where you’re going.” He made a point of maintaining the formal ways of address outside their private chambers and insisted she’d do so as well.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she mumbled, trying to just brush past but felt his hand on her arm, blocking her escape.

“And where would you be off to in such a hurry?”

“Well, I figured I’d had enough of this and was just heading to the Astronomy Tower to kill myself,” she said, the sarcasm left in her voice from earlier.

“Then, by all means, don’t let me stop you,” he said with a smirk, letting go of her arm. She felt anger rising to the surface again and reached into the pocket of her robes.

“I’m pregnant,” she said, shoving the crystal into his hand before stalking off down the corridors. There, that would shut him up.

* * *

**Chapter 7 – Memories**

He caught up with her in the Entrance Hall and almost dragged her down the stairs to the dungeons. With a firm hold on her upper arm, he pushed her through the door of their bedroom and into one of the chairs by the fireplace. He then took a seat across from her and looked at her expectantly. She looked back, partly angry, partly bewildered. They just stared at each other for several minutes before Hermione broke the silence.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Well, I suppose you have something you want to tell me since you practically dragged me down here?”

“Not at all, I simply thought you might need some time to cool down. On closer consideration, having my pregnant young wife jumping from the Astronomy Tower could reflect rather poorly on myself. The _Prophet_ would revel in the “ _terrible tragedy_ ” for months and I would be most inconvenienced. Tea? Or would you prefer something stronger?” He pulled out his wand and waved it, making a kettle, two cups and a bottle of Firewhiskey zoom to the table from across the room. On a second thought, he also lit a fire in the hearth, which soon filled the room with a warm glow.

“Nice to know that at least some parts of this crazy world stay the same. For a minute there, I almost thought you might actually care about me or your future child,” she said sarcastically. He grinned.

“Never,” he said, pouring two cups of tea and a rather large whiskey, which he pushed over the table to her. “Here, it’ll calm you down.”

“I can’t drink alcohol when I’m pregnant!” she said with incredulity, pushing the tumbler back and taking the cup of tea.

“Why not? There’s a perfectly good potion which protects the foetus from injury. There’s no reason you should be more miserable than you have to be when carrying it around.”

“Still…” She weighed the glass in her hand, remembering everything she’d heard on alcohol and pregnancy and how dangerous it was to drink while pregnant. She put it back down with a resolute look on her face. “…I don’t think so.”

“Suit yourself,” he replied, taking the glass and sipping the liquid with a look of pleasure on his face. “Ah, this is nice.”

“So?”

“So, what?”

“So, what is your reaction to having a baby?” she said, a bit nervous, half-wishing that she’d actually taken the drink.

“Well, I’d be lying to say that I’m pleased, but I figure that the sooner we get it over with the better. The Ministry has decided that we need to produce at least two offspring before we’re eligible for a divorce, and at this rate, we could be rid of each other in less than three years,” he said simply, sipping his drink as though they were talking about nothing more dramatic than the weather.

“And then what? You’re just going to throw me and the children out and go back to living a normal life?” She felt her anger starting to rise again, fuelled by his calm appearance.

“Pretty much, yes,” he affirmed, raising an eyebrow at the look of pure fury she shot at him. “You didn’t actually think we’d be a happy family, raising our perfect little normal kids together, did you?”

“Well, no… but-”

“Hermione,” he said with a sigh, putting his glass back down on the table, “you should know me better than that by now. You’ve seen me teach for seven years. I think your silly little brain should have deduced by now that I do not like children. As a matter of fact, I _hate_ children, and more so the younger they are.”

“But this will be different, they’ll be _your_ children. You’ll be a father, it will change you, it will-”

“That’s just things otherwise intelligent people tell themselves to keep from jumping off a bridge when they find out they're pregnant,” he interrupted her firmly. “I’ve never wanted to be a father, I don’t know how to be one and I don’t particularly wish to learn. Before this inane law, I was actually rather happy with my life. I don’t wish to disrupt it further than the Ministry already has.”

“I’ll prove you wrong,” she said with conviction, locking eyes with him. “You’ll see.”

“Is that so?” he said with a smirk.

“Yes.”

They looked into each other’s eyes, both trying to stare the other down, both faces growing grimmer, more determined.

“Come over here,” he said softly, his lips curling into a rather unpleasant smile. She just raised her eyebrow and walked over to him, accepting his challenge without any signs of fear. He pulled her down in his lap and opened the top buttons of his robes, placing her hand inside to rub across the skin like he’d done the morning after their wedding.

“Here, what do you feel?” he asked, placing her fingers above his heart.

“Apart from your skin and the beating of your heart, nothing,” she answered, trying to sound bored. He grabbed her hand and guided the fingers to trace the scars he had there, circling each one slowly.

“Every circle your fingers trace bears witness of a lesson in childrearing that I was taught by my father. He liked burning cigarettes the best because of the smoke and the smell that flesh and blood create when singed by the fire. This one,” he moved her finger around the one most to the right, “I got when I was five, because I fell down the stairs and disturbed him when he was reading. This one,” he moved her fingers to a larger one, closer to his heart, “he worked on for quite some time. He used to say that nothing was more satisfying than opening old scars and making them bleed again. Always go for the sore spots if you really want to cause pain, Hermione, that’s what he would tell you.” He looked up at her and noticed that her eyes were becoming slightly shiny and that she was trembling. He moved her hand a little higher. “And here,” he said, keeping her fingers in a strong grip, “you have his masterpiece – a mark made by no fewer than five cigarettes, a hot iron poker and, of course, his favourite knife. He gave me that when I was thirteen, the same night he finally killed my mother. Now, Hermione, you know as well as I do that people tend to become like their parents. So answer me this: Do you really want me near your children?”

She tried to remove her hand but he wouldn’t let her, holding it in an iron grip, tracing the scars over and over. He knew she couldn’t feel them but he didn’t care. He wanted to scare her, scare her enough so that she would take whatever children they had far away from him. He’d never wanted to be a father and he certainly never wanted to turn into his own. When a Death Eater, he had found that the darker, violent side of him was very present, and he’d revelled in the sensation of causing other people immense pain. He’d enjoyed their pleading and screaming, their tears and their shame. He’d done things that would make her sick, and he’d been proud of them, becoming a little more of a monster every day. He’d wandered further and further down the path of destruction, until that day…

“I can feel it!” she suddenly sobbed, bringing him back to the present. Tears were rolling down her cheeks as she traced each scar over and over without his guidance. “God! I can actually feel them… the skin has changed… God, how can anybody be so cruel?” she cried, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tightly, her tears wetting the top of his robes. He was shocked by her reaction - she was supposed to be halfway to Gryffindor Tower right now, not holding on to him like this, not acting like… _like she actually cared._ He moved his hands to her sides, preparing to push her away, when she moved her face away from his neck and looked down at him, face streaked with tears, eyes big and blue and full of empathy. He felt a strange tightening in his chest and started pushing her away. He didn’t want pity, especially not from her, a seventeen-year-old Gryffindor. He opened his mouth to say something scathing, something that would hurt her, something that would turn her away. And then she kissed him.

For the second time in just a couple of minutes, he was taken by surprise. He tried pushing her away, but her arms were so tightly wrapped around his neck this proved a most difficult task. He felt like he was drowning - her tears were everywhere and her mouth was on his so hard he couldn’t breathe. He was drowning, and he was burning; every touch of her lips, every tear that touched his skin, every bit of him that came into contact with her went through him like liquid fire. Not the glowing, deep-red kind that they had wielded together for the past weeks, but the searing, white-hot flames of pure agony. She was feeding him goodness and compassion and it choked him. Every comforting caress was torture, and why, _why_ were his hands snaking themselves around her back, pressing her even closer against him, holding her so hard he could feel his knuckles go white? The pain was spreading through his body, growing, fading, making him think he would lose his mind, when suddenly, it all soared into his chest and was concentrated into a single point, like someone had just put a burning iron to his skin.

He cried out and pushed hard, sending her sprawling to the floor. In a second, he was on his feet, grasping his chest and breathing heavily. His scars, over which she’d placed a soft hand, were burning worse than ever. He looked over at her limp form where she lay on the floor. She’d fallen hard onto the merciless stone and was clutching one of her wrists in pain. From the expression on her face, her cries and the limp way she was holding it, he concluded that it was probably broken. Memories flashed before his eyes - memories of his mother crouching like that, crying like that, holding her wrist like that after he’d found her in a limp pile at the bottom of the stairs, and he felt a jolt of undiluted fear run down his spine. Suddenly, he was transported seventeen years back in time, to the day when he had looked in the mirror the morning after a very bloody mission and realised that he’d killed the man he most hated only to take his place in the world. He’d seen his father staring back at him through the glass, the same vile, sadistic pleasure shining from black eyes that held no pity. He’d gone to Dumbledore the very same day.

And now, Hermione -his wife- was lying in a broken heap at his feet, crying from the pain that he’d caused her. Almost in a trance, he pulled out his wand and watched the limp body levitate off the ground, just like he had so many times in the past. He placed her gently on the bed and muttered the spells to heal her broken bones - spells he’d learnt long before even coming to Hogwarts, taking the long delicate willow and unicorn wand from his mother’s trembling hand when the pain made her unable to heal her own injuries. He remembered how helpless he’d felt back then, as he’d pressed icepacks to her face to calm a swelling or a black eye. Noting that there was such a swelling forming at Hermione’s left temple, (she’d undoubtedly hit her head when she fell) he conjured just such an icepack and pressed it gently against her head. Her eyes were closed and she moaned softly, her face pale, her body unmoving. Without thinking, he raised his other hand and stroked her cheek softly, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. Drawing a shuddering breath, she opened her eyes and he noticed that the sapphire blue had been replaced with a honeyed brown. Little specks of green and gold were scattered in them and the ring around the iris was a deep, almost blackish brown. He watched them widen and felt again the soft touch of her hand on his face. He resisted the impulse to pull away as she ran her fingers across his eyes, along the length of his nose and into his hair, twirling a long strand and wrapping it around her index finger. Then, as soon as it had made contact, the hand was withdrawn and he saw a shadow of fear pass across her eyes. Muttering a charm to keep the icepack in place, he stood up.

“I trust you understand now why I should never be a father, and why I should never have become a husband in the first place. Trust me, Hermione, the sooner we disappear out of each other’s lives, the better it’ll be for both of us.”

And with that, he left the room.

* * *

**Chapter 8 – Violence Within**

Three weeks went past in which they hardly saw each other. They occupied the same space during lessons and mealtimes but didn’t much look at each other. He avoided her and she did the same, though why she could never quite figure out. She walked around in an almost dreamlike state, not really caring about everything that went on around her. She’d been to Neville’s wedding and to Ron’s, which had only made her feel even more detached. The time when she’d shared everything with her friends, the time when they’d been close, seemed suddenly so very far away. Ginny and Harry tried to talk to her sometimes but she found she didn’t really know how to talk to them about herself and her feelings. She just felt… cut off.

Mainly, she thought about her husband. Their last conversation and what happened after it had replayed in her mind almost constantly since he left her that day. She just couldn’t stop thinking about it – the things he’d said, the things he’d done and, most importantly, how she’d reacted to it all. She’d gone over her feelings again and again, trying to make some sense of them, trying to see the situation from an objective perspective. It wasn’t easy.

The scene had made her realise things about herself that weren’t very pleasant. She remembered when she’d first felt – really felt – the scars on his chest, the ragged edges of the deep cuts and burns. She’d felt such pain, both for him and, strangely, for herself. Feeling the evidence of his pain had brought back memories. Not like the ones he must have, of course - she’d never been physically abused by anyone - but memories of different kinds of mental abuse she’d had to bear over the years. Little snide comments that she pretended didn’t bother her, but which pricked her deeper than she cared to admit. The laughter behind her back, people abruptly going silent as she walked into a room, the loneliness she’d often felt, even when she had friends all around her. Little tiny drops of water that together carved deep into the stone, and into her heart. All this had come swirling back to her, opening that big hole inside her that she tried to pretend didn’t exist, and she’d been desperate to hang onto something, distract herself from the pain, convincing herself that there was someone in the world who wanted her, who cared for her. And so she’d kissed him.

She still couldn’t understand how her brain had suffered such a complete meltdown. Clearly, her reason had evaporated altogether when she made that decision. She reminded herself that she didn’t like him, that he didn’t like her and that he was the last person who would give her the things she craved. Still, she’d kissed him and clung to him so hard she thought she would break from the tension. When he’d tried to push her away, she’d only clung to him more, not able to take rejection from him then, trying desperately to feel something, to connect, to ease her own pain by trying to ease his. He’d given in and pulled her to him, and she’d felt, for a few glorious moments, a genuine connection. It’d been dark and painful, but it had been there. And it had been powerful. She had felt it while she was assaulted by a multitude of emotions, as they clung to each other in mindless… whatever it had been. In that moment, he was no longer connected to everything she hated about the teacher who was now her husband. None of it mattered as they kissed, connecting for the very first time through their mutual pain. And then, she’d ruined everything…

She’d moved a hand down to his heart, wanting to brush away the pain, the scars, the memories. She’d felt such strong emotion right then, like she would do anything to help him, anything to make him heal, anything to make him need her, want her, crave what she had to give. She’d touched him and he’d reacted as though she’d sliced his chest open all over again. She hadn’t even have time to react before she hit the stone, falling on her arm, hearing a cracking sound and then… blackness for a short while before she came back to her now double pain. She’d been too preoccupied to realise what was happening and only vaguely noted that she was floating, that the pain in her arm stopped and that something cool was pressed to her pounding head. When she felt the fingers softly caress her cheek, she’d somehow known that it was him, even though it made no sense and despite the fact that her eyes were still closed. When she’d opened them, she’d had a small shock: his face was back to the way she’d known it for almost seven years. Instead of disappointment, she’d felt a strange joy, tracing his features, twisting a strand of the hair she used to find so disgusting around one of her fingers. It didn’t strike her as gross anymore, because this was _real_ , this was _him_ , and he belonged to h-

Suddenly, a piercing fear had gripped her heart, making it beat fast and hard in her chest and she’d recoiled. The implications of the thoughts and feelings she was having had hit her like a lightning strike and she’d felt her breathing stop short in her chest. What game was her mind playing on her? Where did those spine-chilling thoughts come from? Confused and scared, she tried to calm down, to reason with herself. She was vaguely aware that he was talking, but the blood pounding in her ears blocked out all sound. She wanted desperately to reach out to him, at the same time as another part of her wanted to run away and hide. She struggled to find something to say, something to do, something that would put things back to the way they’d been before she’d thrown herself at someone she loathed just to escape from being alone.

Before she’d been able to think of anything, he’d left the room.

***

A clock struck midnight somewhere in the castle. She counted the twelve heavy clangs as she lay in her old bed in Gryffindor Tower, unable to sleep. She’d started sleeping there again when he hadn’t come to bed two nights in a row. Seeing as she was now pregnant, they weren’t obligated to have sex anymore, and so they hadn’t, for three weeks. She figured she should be relieved, but she mainly felt… empty. She’d got used to curling up against his back to sleep, (he always turned away from her to sleep on his side) and, frankly, she missed having him touch her. What had been a sort of girlfriendly duty when she was with Ron had transformed into something she looked forward too, longed for even. She hated to admit it to herself, but she actually missed him.

In only a few days, the NEWTS would start, and so she’d spent virtually all of her time studying. It helped take her mind off things, but she found she wasn’t as concentrated as usual. Potions revision, especially, went rather badly. She started to feel like she had in her third year: stressed and tired. She didn’t get much sleep, and what little she did get was disturbed by dreams she never could remember when she woke up, but which left her with a feeling of unease that lasted most of the morning. Oh, and she was experiencing the female delight of morning sickness as well, a joy not to be forgotten.

This was no good. She’d been lying awake for over an hour now. With a sigh, she slid out of bed, put on her slippers and a dressing gown and walked over to the fireplace. She picked up the pot of glittering powder placed on top of it and weighed it in her hand for a long time. Finally, she reminded her self that if she was to pass the NEWTS with top marks, she needed some peace of mind. With a trembling hand, she threw a pinch into the fire and stepped into the glimmering emerald flames.

***

She found her husband sitting in one of the chairs by the fire as she stepped out of the flames. If he’d been surprised at her entry, he’d been able to hide it well in the few seconds it took her to wipe the dust off her clothes. Slowly, she raised her head and looked at him.

“Hermione, what are you doing here?” His voice was low and sounded slightly guarded.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she answered truthfully.

“And so you came down here. Why?”

“Because you’re the reason I couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah,” he said with a small smile, “you’ve come to face your demons. How original.”

He still hadn’t moved. She was starting to feel nervous again.

“Well, I just think we should talk about what happened, that’s all.” He let out a snort.

“Oh, yes, the healing magic of _talking_ ,” he drawled sarcastically. “Where we talk about our precious _feelings_ and then share a big _hug_.” His voice dropped and gained an icy quality as he continued, “Well, think again, Hermione. I’m not a love-sick little Hufflepuff. I won’t be playing your games.”

“Well, that’s not what I meant, I just thought –”

“What? That I should apologise to you? That I should get down on my knees and swear it won’t happen again, that I didn’t mean it and that I’d never purposefully hurt you? Is that what you want?”

“No,” she said, trying to keep her voice even, “that’s not what I meant. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, it was my fault, I shouldn’t have touched you like that, I –” She was abruptly cut off as he launched out of the chair and caught her arms in an iron grip, his black eyes glaring down at her.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t tempt my dark side this way. Don’t invite me to hurt you again.”

“B-but, I-I’m not -” she stammered, feeling tears rise in her eyes and trying to push them back down.

“Yes, you are,” he said firmly, tightening his grip even more, making her whimper. “I know the signals all too well, Hermione. I studied the signs and the patterns for years, desperate to find a way to break them but I never could. It was always the same. He would apologise, she would forgive and make excuses, accepting the blame to make his life easier. And he would strike her again, harder this time, because she would let him, forgive him and make more excuses. In the end, he stopped apologising and just put the blame directly on her. And she would accept it and apologise for having angered him. And the more she did that, the more faults he would find in her that warranted punishment. Until he killed her.”

“But I’m not like that!” she protested, tears in her eyes now. “You’re not like that! You risked your life for the Order, you helped destroy Voldemort! You’re not evil.” He growled and gave her a hard shake.

“Don’t pretend to think that you know me, Hermione. You have no idea what motivated my actions during the war. I can cause pain, believe me. And I enjoy it. There is no sweeter feeling than revenge, the delicious power that flows through your veins as you see another person suffer at your hands…” He moved a hand to her face and caressed her cheek slowly, then cupped her chin, tilted her head back and held it firmly as his eyes bored into hers, the other arm sliding around her back, pulling her close. “And you, my dear,” he said, pure silk in his voice now, “have all the makings of a broken woman. I sensed it already in your first year: desperate for attention, too eager to please, far too grateful for any little crumb of praise that would fall from the teachers’ table. I watched it develop as you grew, along with your arrogance. Yes, arrogance,” he repeated sharply, as she opened her mouth to protest. “Your outer confidence grew, you enjoyed showing off, you revelled in the success of your studies as well as the little missions you and your moronic friends went on. And I watched you and I knew that it was all on the surface, that the illustrious Miss Granger was still just an insecure little girl who could easily be broken by the right man. You’re weak, Hermione. I could break you in very little time.”

She stood so still in his arms, her eyes lowered, her breathing barely noticeable. He was rather surprised at this reaction. He’d have thought she’d deny it, get angry, try to fight him even. Instead she just stood there, unmoving. He wondered how much of this she’d already known about herself. In all likelihood, not too much - perhaps this was her way of reacting to shock…? Just as he thought this, she stirred in his arms.

“You’re right,” she whispered, so quietly it was hardly audible. Gods, you’re right! It all makes sense…” she started to cry uncontrollably, mumbling words he couldn’t make out through her sobs. He felt revulsion rise within him along with a mounting anger at her display of weakness. He wanted to push her away, to shout at her, to hurt her. His hands tingled with the need to slap her, to choke her, to make her stop this sickening flaunting of her feelings. He’d always despised people who couldn’t control themselves, who wore their hearts on their sleeves and thereby unconsciously instructed people on how to hurt them the most. He wanted to hurt these people, to punish them for being weak, for giving up control and power so willingly. He wanted to hurt Hermione now, hurt her utterly, watch the blood run from her nose as he broke it with one swift punch, watch her cry out as he threw her against the wall, pounding her head against it, again and again... Hurt her until the growing pain went away in his own chest. But he knew that that would be the beginning of the end and that he would end up breaking the only promise he’d ever truly made: _to never become his father_.

So instead, he gathered all his self-control, took some deep breaths and forced the anger back. He moved the trembling hands that wanted to strike her up to carefully caress her face and silenced the hurtful, scathing comments that demanded release by taking her lips in a soft kiss. He held himself in such check it hurt, willing his anger to ebb, stopping his teeth from biting down and drawing blood at the last moment. His breath became ragged as he fought to keep his restraint, and he concentrated on the feel of her, on her soft lips, on her face under his hands. She started to respond and he deepened the kiss, looking for something to distract him, to replace the destructive feelings that threatened to overcome him. He found it as she moaned softly and moved her arms around his neck, pressing closer against him. The kiss became more heated, more desperate, each seeking escape in the other’s touch. With a groan, he picked her up and carried her to bed.

***

Hermione awoke late, or so she figured. Since the bedroom didn’t have any windows she couldn’t tell the time by looking at the sun, (not that she’d ever been very good at that) but from the feeling in her body, she concluded that she must have slept long. She felt truly rested for the first time in weeks. She rolled over and found the other side of the bed empty. She figured Severus was probably in class since only the fifth- and seventh-years had these last few days before exams off. Stretching languidly, she let the memories of the night before wash over her.

Their coming together had been an act of desperation, of trying to hold on to something in a world falling apart. It’d been harsh and painful and exhausting, but afterwards, she’d felt a hundred times better, as though the emotional and mental tension had been released along with the physical. She’d felt drained but oddly at peace. They’d collapsed from exhaustion, still in each other’s arms, and she’d slept better than she had in a long time. She got out of bed and walked into the bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror. Several deep-red and blue love bites adorned her neck and upper chest and she touched them gingerly with her fingers, wondering whether a Concealment Charm would be enough to cover them up. Since it was almost summer, she couldn’t really wear a scarf around her neck…

“I see you got marked from last night as well,” a voice suddenly sounded behind her. She spun around, coming face to face with Snape who was just getting out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist.

“How…?” she managed, looking bewildered.

“Silencing Charm, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I thought you would be in class.”

“I will, in a few hours.”

“What? What time is it?”

“Six thirty,” he answered with a shrug, moving over to the mirror to comb out his hair. “Move over a little, will you?”

She stepped to the side and watched, mesmerised, as he pulled the comb through the long dark strands. His hair really wasn’t that bad, she thought, at least not now that it was newly washed. She put a hand on his shoulder and ran it along his arm without thinking. She felt his muscles tense and half withdrew it before his other hand came down on hers, holding it in place. She looked up and met his eyes in the mirror, unsure of what to do next.

“Continue,” he whispered, letting go of her hand and picking up a razor from the stand. He started putting shaving cream on his face as she watched, again moving her hand along his arm and shoulder.

He was very tense and she noticed that his hand trembled slightly. Every now and then, he would pause with the razor and draw some deep breaths. She didn’t know what was going on but kept stroking him the way he’d asked. Stepping close, she let one hand caress his back and kissed his shoulder tenderly. He almost jumped and let out a swift curse. She threw an eye at the mirror and saw blood sipping from a cut on his cheek. He looked furious. Again she drew back. His voice stopped her.

“No, Hermione, continue. _…please_ ,” he added as an afterthought. “I need this, I need to test myself this way.”

She complied and took a step closer, moving her hands over his back and placing little kisses along his shoulder. Moving her mouth to his back, she opened her eyes and noticed long red marks cutting across it. She looked closer. The scratches were bright red and looked fresh. She followed one of them with one finger and realisation hit. Her nails. She gasped and stepped back again. This time his face in the mirror wore a strange smile.

“I hurt you. I’m sorry,” she said, unable to pull her eyes away from the mirror.

“Don’t be. The marking was clearly mutual,” he replied, indicating the bruises on her neck. He had finished shaving now and turned around, little specks of healing salve in the places where the razor had slipped. “I have a salve in my lab that will heal those for you. Otherwise, I fear Potter and Weasley will come storming down here to hex me before noon, and I’d rather not lay eyes on their pathetic faces today. I’ll be right back.”

He walked out of the bathroom and she moved to the wash stand, threw some water in her face and then tried to get her hair to lie in place. As usual, it wouldn’t. She struggled for a while and then gave up. Maybe she should just cut it? It had grown truly wild in the last year and it seemed that the longer it got, the messier and frizzier it became as well. It also took a lot of time in the morning, just to transform the “I’ve-just-been-caught-in-a-hurricane”-look to something a little less frightening. Right now, she figured it didn’t matter, because Snape couldn’t see it anyway, but she’d have to stand in front of a whole class of first-years later that morning, and she’d prefer not to have them call her “Miss Greatpoof” behind her back. Twisting her hair into a long rope, she curled it into a figure eight at the back of her head and secured it with an extra strong Sticking Charm.

In the meantime, Snape had come back with the salve. He dipped his fingers into it and then started to massage it into her skin. He worked with calm precise movements, just the right pressure to coax her muscles to relax without causing additional pain to the sore spots. She sighed softly and closed her eyes, a smile spreading across her lips. When he’d finished, he let his hands linger on her skin for a little while longer, massaging her neck and shoulders gently.

“Thank you,” she whispered with a smile when he finally withdrew his hands. “Here, let me help you with yours.” She reached out to grab the jar of salve but he recoiled.

“No need, I’m fine.”

“Severus,” she said half-exasperatedly, “you have deep scratches on your back. Give me the salve. They will scar if you don’t attend to them.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said, putting the salve away. “I doubt I will be able to even see a difference, or tell those ones apart from the others.” He turned away from her and started making his way towards the bedroom. She stopped him with a hand on his arm, the other stroking his back again. She studied him carefully but could only see the scratches she’d caused him, contrasted against smooth skin.

“I can’t see…”

“Of course you can’t. You would – quite naturally – rather feel smooth skin under your hands than a collection of scars, and the Perception Potion adjusts for your desires. You see what you want to see, I’ve already told you that.” He shrugged out of her grip and kept walking, turning to his closet and pulling out a set of black robes.

“But I see your face!” she protested. “And your chest!”

“Then you obviously have very bad taste,” he replied dryly, “either that or your Gryffindor nobility and your ridiculous notions of truth are again playing games with your mind. If you see my face the way it was, that means that this is what you most desire to see. Think about the implications of that for a while.” He smirked, donned his robes and fastened the buttons.

“I’ll see you at breakfast,” he said, opening the door.

“Severus, wait,” she pleaded, moving across the room to stand between him and the door. “Why won’t you let me help you? Just give me the salve and…”

“I don’t need your help,” he interrupted her icily. “And moreover, I don’t _want_ your help. Last night brought some revelations, not a double lobotomy. And, may I remind you…” He stepped closer, putting his hand at the back of her head and pulling her to him in a searing kiss that left them both breathless. “…We happen to _hate_ each other.” With a sardonic smile, he brushed a curly brown tendril from her face and walked out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 9 - Secrets**

Somehow, Hermione managed to get through her NEWTS alright despite her confused state of mind. The last weeks at Hogwarts had been the most surreal of her life, for many different reasons. It seemed that mixing exam anxiety with raging pregnancy hormones and nasty epiphanies about weaknesses in your underlying character was very volatile. She could go from euphoria to depression to rage within a few minutes. Her friends distanced themselves wisely from what Ron had come to dub “the mood swings from hell.” Of course, not having her friends around didn’t exactly help matters. She missed them, and got angry when they’d only show up because they really needed her help with a spell model for Transfiguration. Then again, she was quite happy to be left alone. It was all very contradictory.

Her husband was another matter. He was behaving very odd indeed. They’d seen each other almost every day and she never knew what kind of man she would be facing. His moods seemed as unpredictable as hers, and the way he was around her… Sometimes he would ask her to do certain things, like rub his back or run her fingers through his hair, and then close his eyes and seemingly shut her out of his reality. Sometimes he would just sit and stare at her for minutes on end, or touch her experimentally, stopping every now and then to stare into space. It was most odd and made her feel uncomfortable, like she was some sort of object of study to him. Finally, the night just before her last exam, she’d asked him about it and he’d replied that without knowledge, there could be no change. She’d given him a blank look and he’d chuckled lightly, stepped closer and bent to whisper something in her ear.

_“Knowledge only comes with experience, Hermione… speaking of which…”_

There had been no more talking that night.

The way he acted around her made her wonder about her own feelings and reactions. Ever since the night when she’d realised the ugly truth about herself, she’d been going back and forth between sadness, desperation, fear and anger. She’d always (she now realised) looked down on women who were in abusive relationships – and who stayed in them, moreover – or who didn’t stand up to their husbands or boyfriends. She was of the firm belief that women and men should be on equal footing in a relationship and had always rolled her eyes at the behaviour of the other girls in her dormitory – the way they would fuss over their looks and spend countless amounts of time and money just to make some guy notice them. It wasn’t fun to realise that you followed the same patterns.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, letting the sun warm her face. She was in London, walking around the Muggle parts of town, enjoying the anonymity the big city offered. She’d decided to take a day away from Hogwarts to go shopping, seeing as the robes she usually wore were getting a little tight around her chest and belly. It was early July and she was starting to show, being almost three months along now. She walked into a shop and started flicking through the hangers in the maternity section. She supposed she could have gone to Diagon Alley, or even Hogsmeade for new clothes, but she didn’t want robes this time. Like with her wedding, being pregnant was something she’d fantasised about since she was little, and just because she now happened to live her life as a witch didn’t mean that she had to dress in wizarding robes all the time. Especially during summer, a top and a shorter skirt were a lot more practical than long, stuffy robes. Picking out a few items she liked, she proceeded to the cash register and then walked back out on the street. The sun was even hotter now and she felt little drops of sweat run down her neck. Her hair was hanging down her back like a thick woollen blanket, weighing her down and plastering itself to her face and shoulders. Whoever said it was a pain to be pregnant in the summer had been right, Hermione thought. She longed to cast a Cooling Charm, but seeing as she was walking on a crowded sidewalk surrounded by Muggles, this was probably not a very good idea. Her salvation came as she rounded a corner, placed between a shoe shop and an oriental clothes store. A smile spreading on her face, she pushed the door open and went inside.

“Hullo, can I help you?” a blonde girl called from over at a cabinet. She put down a pile of towels and came to meet Hermione.

“Hi, yes, I need a cut,” she answered, running her fingers through the unruly curls. “I’m going mad out there.”

“Yeah, it’s really hot, isn’t it?” the blonde smiled understandingly. “I spend 45 minutes on the underground every morning and afternoon and the heat has been absolutely killing these past few days. I actually have an opening right now, if that’s alright with you?”

“Perfect.” She put her bags next to the wall and sat down in the chair indicated, leaning her head back so that the girl could wash her hair. A small fan was on next to her and the cool breeze felt heavenly on her damp skin. She closed her eyes and just enjoyed the gentle massage and the water touching her head. She sighed softly and automatically placed her hands on her stomach, caressing the small bulge. She was wearing a tight red tank top, which stretched and showed off her figure a lot more than the robes she usually wore did. The girl noticed the hands, but decided not to say anything at the moment. Instead, she swept Hermione’s curls into a fluffy white towel and led her over to a chair in front of one of the mirrors. Having dried the hair quickly, she picked up a pair of scissors and a comb and stood behind her with an expectant face.

“So, how would you like it?”

“I don’t know. Different, shorter… I want something that’s light and cool, that’s easy to handle and doesn’t get in my face. I’m uncomfortable as it is without my big poofy hair making me more so,” she said, one hand still on her belly, holding it in a protective grip.

“Yeah, I imagine it’s quite bad,” the blonde said, feeling her hair. “My sister had a baby just last year, in September, and she was miserable during the summer. Still, now that the little bugger is out, she claims it was all worth it.” She smiled and Hermione met her eyes in the mirror, smiling back a little. “Anyway, if you don’t mind, I think we should cut it quite short. You have a very nice face and all this hair is wearing it down.”

“As long as you make it nice and comfortable, I give you free rein,” Hermione stated. The girl’s smile grew wider and she picked up her scissors, letting the first curl fall to the floor. As she cut the hair, they chatted about the usual things and Hermione found herself actually having fun. This girl was a Muggle and a complete stranger and she was very easy to talk to. She talked a bit about the baby and about how nervous she was that she didn’t know too much about raising it. She’d never had any brothers and sisters or younger cousins, so smaller children were quite foreign to her. The girl nodded and told her little anecdotes about her nephews and nieces, making babies actually seem quite nice. Time flew away and it wasn’t long before the blonde held up a mirror so that Hermione could see her finished hair from behind.

“Splendid, don’t you think?”

Hermione looked at herself in the mirror and a smile spread across her face. It really did look good. The girl had cut it very short at the back, leaving her neck wonderfully bare and cool. It then fell longer in the front, touching the side of her face gently but without falling into it. She had used a knife to thin it out a little and cut it in layers. The result was that the bushy tangles were now relatively tangle-free curls. Hermione felt it with her hands and was amazed with the lightness of it. She liked it, she decided. With a thank you and a big tip, she left the salon.

***

Walking down the corridors towards the dungeons, she felt almost giddy. Her short curls bounced around her ears and she enjoyed the feeling. In the Entrance Hall, she’d run into Professor McGonagall, who’d asked her to have tea with her. In her office, the professor had declared how pleased she was with Hermione’s NEWT scores and wondered if she would consider staying at Hogwarts as a full-time teacher when the next year started. In addition, McGonagall offered her an apprenticeship in the discipline of her choice, to make her a fully qualified teacher.

“You see, Hermione, I think you would be perfect here. Your grades have always been remarkable and you’ve done very well teaching the younger students this year. We are in desperate need of new competent teachers and we could really use your help,” McGonagall said, sipping her tea.

“What subject would I be teaching?” Hermione asked, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. This would probably be her best chance for a decent job in the coming few years, seeing as the Ministry had decided to give her a part-time employment as “wizard-breeder”. She still hated the whole lot of them.

“Well, that’s up to you really,” McGonagall continued. “I could offer you an apprenticeship with anyone on our senior staff, so that would include Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Arithmancy and Herbology. I would, naturally, be very pleased to teach you myself. My duties as Headmistress really take quite a lot of my time and I’ve been very pleased to have you and Terry help me this year. You would make a fine Transfiguration Mistress, Hermione.”

Hermione felt herself blush with pride.

“Thank you, Professor, I would be happy to,” she said with a smile. I’ve always loved Transfiguration, but I would like a little bit of time to think it over before I give you my answer. There are so many things I’m interested in.”

“I quite understand,” the older woman said. “Just take a few days and then come see me when you’ve reached a decision.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Hermione answered, before saying her goodbyes and leaving the office. Things were looking up indeed.

***

Down in the dungeons, Severus Snape was pacing. He knew Hermione would get home soon and was, in all honesty, a little worried about that – not that he would ever admit it. He’d been analysing himself thoroughly these past weeks when it came to his reactions to her. He tried to let her touch him gently without triggering the need to hurt her in his chest. He’d found that beneath her know-it-all surface, there was really a very sweet girl, albeit far too trusting and loving for her own good. He recognised the type. He knew how to break a girl like that. And he put all his energy into fighting the urge to act upon that knowledge. He tried to be, if not nice, then at least tolerably pleasant to her; tried to break his own patterns of violence and destruction. He would _not_ become his father.

Some days were better and some were worse, he noticed. Some days they would spend peacefully together, eating, shagging and discussing the finer points of Potion making and Transfiguration. They even played games - mainly the type that involved solving riddles and other mental puzzles. They had the odd chess game going on but it wasn’t either of their favourite. Severus was loathe to admit it, but he’d never really enjoyed the game since Minerva McGonagall had slaughtered him at a Christmas party some ten years earlier. Other days were less harmonious. The hormones raging in his wife and the conflicting urges and feelings raging in him caused frequent fights. She drove him crazy sometimes, making him lose all control and just yell back at her, flinging the occasional breakable object across the room. So far, he’d refrained from hitting her though, and after each fight without physical violence, he’d felt a strange surge of pride soar through him. Quite often, that feeling would be accompanied by an even stranger sense of gratitude towards Hermione. For what, he didn’t know; perhaps it was the fact that she wasn’t lying in a broken heap at his feet, staining the Persian carpet with her blood. Perhaps it was because she had the courage to fight back, even though every time she did so, he would feel his anger rise. It was a weird paradox: he both enjoyed their fights and hated them, both admired her courage to contradict him and abhorred every word she said. Often, he would end up saying things to hurt her, insult her in some way and see the flash of tears in her eyes. But at least he’d refrained from hitting her. It was a start.

The door opened and Hermione stepped in. She walked straight to him and put her arms around his neck, shopping bags still in her hands, and kissed him deeply. Stunned by this unexpected gesture, he kissed her back on instinct for a few seconds before lifting his head and taking in her face. Her eyes sparkled at him and she smiled. He wondered why.

“Eager tonight?” he said teasingly, stroking one finger along her spine in a way he knew would make her shiver.

“Just happy,” she replied, untangling herself from his arms.

“Because of a shopping trip? My, my, looks like there might be a feminine gene in you after all.”

She just smiled. Being around him almost daily for almost three months had taught her how his humour worked and not to take the bait. At least most of the time.

“Actually, shopping was horrid, far too hot,” she said with a shrug. “But when I came back here, I ran into McGonagall and she offered me a combined job-apprenticeship for this fall.”

“I see. And what subject would you be teaching?” he asked, sitting down into his favourite chair as Hermione started putting away her purchases in the wardrobe.

“I’m not sure,” she said, biting her lower lip. “There are so many things I’m interested in, and I hate the thought that whatever I pick, I’ll be giving up something else. Does that make sense?”

“Certainly. It’s the phenomenon commonly known as “opportunity cost” – the price of each decision or act in missed opportunities. You merely need to figure out which subject would have the lowest opportunity cost in proportion to its advantages.”

“And how do I do that?”

“Well, that’s for you to figure out, isn’t it?” he smirked. “I would personally love to have you choose Potions.”

“Y-you w-would?” she stammered, completely thrown. She couldn’t imagine that he’d want to share his work with her, not when he claimed he was growing tired being around her as it was.

“Of course. Someone to take care of all the infuriating younger students, to read the essays of pre-teenage morons who barely know how to read and write and to discipline little buggers who think the study of Potions is merely a place to slack off or have fun. I would be ecstatic.”

“I bet,” she shot back, anger rising. “Well, thank you, Severus, for taking one of my options off the list.”

She looked so offended he couldn’t help laughing. This made her even angrier, of course, and all the more amusing for him. She shot him a look of pure venom before she too started laughing. This unnerved him and he felt the laughter die in his chest. There was something about sharing a laugh that felt so very intimate – far more so than any of the things he’d ever done to her in bed – and he didn’t quite know how to handle it. So he did what he did best: put a scowl on his face and turned away from her, picking up a book. He heard her sigh deeply before walking over to the bookshelf and picking out her own volume.

***

Later that night, Severus found himself awake and looking down at Hermione’s sleeping face. The room was very dark, only the glow of the fireplace making it possible for him to make out her features. Slowly, he let his hand follow her face, touching the soft skin of her cheeks and nose. He ran a finger across her lips and felt her tongue come out to wet them slightly to counteract the tickling sensation. He brushed a stray curl away from her eyes and took some time to feel how her new haircut felt against his fingers. He hadn’t told her he could see it, hadn’t told her anything about how he saw her now. As far as she knew, she was every bit the dark-haired, curvy beauty she’d been on their wedding night in his eyes. And he was going to keep it that way. There was no reason to tell her that ever since she’d touched his scars and cried over his childhood pain, things had been different. Ever since that kiss that had threatened to burn him to ashes from the inside and make him collapse in pain, things had been different. The first thing to change had been the eyes – naturally, it was always the eyes – which turned into a multitude of colours that collectively gave the impression of being brown, or possibly hazel. Then there was her hair, changing a little every day, slowly morphing back to the mass of brown curls he remembered so well from her years as a student. Funny though, as he looked closer, he noticed little things that he hadn’t seen before: a golden streak near her face when she stood close to a window, a copper gleam flashing in the sun as she pulled it from her face, a perfect shiny curl at the nape, which only came into view when she put her hair up in some sort of hairstyle on the top of her head… And now she’d cut it short. He wondered why. He pulled his fingers carefully through it and decided that he liked it. He couldn’t exactly explain why, but something in the aesthetic part of his brain told him that it suited her. It was still wildly curly, but something else had been added to the mix… “Control”, that was the word. Wild but in control – a good combination.

He let his hand search lower, rediscovering the little secrets he’d found over the past few weeks. A small scar on her shoulder, a birth mark next to her left collar bone and another just beneath her right breast. The slight difference in size he could feel when he cupped each round orb, taut and swelling now as the child grew inside her. The child. _His_ child. He softly moved his hand down to her stomach, feeling the swelling under his hand. It wasn’t overly big yet, but he could easily feel it, even when she was lying on her back the way she was now. He circled the roundness, caressing the stretched skin and softly massaging the tense muscles. She sighed in her sleep and half turned to snuggle closer to him. He followed her initiative and pulled her close, one arm around her neck and the other coming to rest around her waist.

He’d spent countless nights wondering why these changes were taking place, and yet, he could find no answer except for the obvious: he wanted this. It was a conclusion he couldn’t understand and which therefore scared him immensely. He’d never been one to worship reality. Heck, he didn’t even believe in the concept. According to him, the version of Hermione that the Perception Potion had first created was just as real as the one he was now holding. The former was most certainly prettier, more his type. So why did he apparently desire the bushy-haired student he’d know and been irritated with for the past seven years. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t figure it out.

He’d thought about the possibility of love, naturally, but discarded the idea as absurd. She was just a girl, after all, and an annoying girl at that. Granted, he’d never been in love so he didn’t know what it would feel like, but he doubted that it was anything like what he felt for Hermione – a bewildering combination of like and dislike, irritation and appreciation, pride and disdain, a great urge to hurt and a greater urge to pleasure. Often, when he took her in his arms, he didn’t know what he wanted more – to kiss her or to strangle her. So far, he’d managed to suppress the part of him that wanted to strangle her, but it still remained inside, he could feel it. He didn’t want to get too close to her, didn’t want to connect the way they had the night when he’d thrown her to the floor, because every time something like that happened, every time they became close, he would feel all the pain from his earlier life come rushing back to him. Everyone he’d ever trusted had betrayed him and hurt him thoroughly. Everyone who’d ever trusted him, he’d betrayed and hurt in turn. He’d learnt long ago never to let anybody close, and it had allowed him to survive two very cruel wars. Why then would he place his head willingly on the executioner’s block for this slip of a girl who was now his wife? All this made seeing Hermione as she’d been before the potion very unnerving indeed. The only acceptable explanation he could think of went along the lines of the old saying “know thy enemy”. Perhaps that was why his mind pushed off the effects of the potion, because he didn’t want any surprises. But then again, what harm was there in soft hair and bigger knockers really? He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling Hermione’s hair softly tickle his shoulder. At least, as long as she didn’t know, she wouldn’t be able to use it against him. As long as he kept it a secret, he’d be safe. And with the troubled thoughts whirling in his head slowing down a little, he finally managed to fall asleep.

* * *

**Chapter 10 - Fear**

Hermione closed the bedroom door with a loud slam and threw herself on the bed with a desperate groan.

“I hate the world!” she declared vehemently. “I wish we’d just let Voldemort win and kill us all. At least then I wouldn’t be so damn _hot_!” She pointed her wand at a pile of books lying neatly on a bedside table, which immediately flew into the air, moving up and down in fanning motions. Severus shot her a disapproving look from over where he was sitting in his armchair, waved his wand at the flying books and made them rearrange themselves neatly in one of the bookcases.

“Severus, please!” she whined, “I’m burning up here!”

“Well, then perform a Cooling Charm and stop complaining about it,” he countered.

“I can’t!”

“Seriously, Hermione, though a vast number of people tend to grossly overestimate your intelligence and magical abilities, not even I will pretend that you are _that_ incompetent.” She shot him a threatening look and saw a small smile at the corner of his mouth. It made her even more annoyed.

“No,” she said, her voice slow and even, a rather convincing impression of the voice Dolores Umbridge had used when addressing Hagrid, he thought, “I know perfectly well how to _perform_ the charm. Only, I’m not supposed to do any magic on myself after my first trimester, which ended two weeks ago. Professor Flitwick even helped me put up an extra strong magical shield a few days back so that I wouldn’t forget or give in to temptation now that the heat wave has struck.” She threw her head back against the pillows and moaned loudly, “God, I’m miserable!”

“And clearly, you wish to include me in your present mood,” he said dryly, putting down his book. “Why don’t you just have some chocolate? It usually shuts you up.” If looks could kill…

“I don’t have any left and the House Elves keep running away from me as soon as I approach them,” she admitted sullenly.

“Well, perhaps you shouldn’t have held that stirring speech in the kitchens stating that since you’re now a member of staff, every elf who comes to you will be treated as an ‘equal magical being’ and be given its ‘shamefully overdue freedom’,” he smirked. He expected something nasty back, or for her to throw something hard at him, but instead, she gave a loud sob and flung herself around, burying her face in the pillows and proceeded to ruin the Persian silk with her sniffling. He rolled his eyes. _Hormones…!_ He never knew how she would react to anything these days. He watched her for a while before an idea struck him and he picked up a quill, wrote a short note and sent it off through the Floo. He then walked over to the bed and resolutely lifted Hermione off of it and into his arms. She struggled against him.

“Severus, what are you doing? Let me down!” she tried, pushing against his chest.

“Keep still or I’ll carry you over my shoulder instead,” he threatened, giving her a deadly look. At the far wall of the bedroom, he said a password and one of the bookshelves slid to the side, revealing a dark underground passage. Without another word, he walked through and carried her into the darkness.

“Where –” she started to ask, the single word echoing off the stone walls.

“You’ll see,” he answered, his voice a low murmur in her ear. A smile of excitement spread on her face, which he felt rather than saw in the pitch-black darkness.

After only a short walk, light started seeping in through some cracks in the ceiling and he turned to the right, into another tunnel.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered, and to his surprise, she complied without question. “Keep them closed,” he warned as he set her down on her feet, hearing her sharp intake of breath as her skin touched the cold stone. He moved in front of her, slowly taking off the few items of clothing she wore and letting them fall to the ground. She trembled slightly and he could feel her heart and breathing speed up, but she kept her eyes closed. Murmuring a spell which made his own robes fall to the ground he pulled her close, one hand massaging her back and the other stroking her ass suggestively as he felt himself harden against her. She gasped softly and moved her hands and lips to his chest, stroking and kissing, making his own heart speed up a little. Making sure her mind and hands were occupied and her eyes were still closed, he carefully moved one hand further down the back of her thigh, lower and lower until, in a lightning-fast movement, he picked her up, spun around and leapt off the dark cliff…

***

_Splash._

Hermione let out a scream as she felt the cool water close in around her. Her eyes flew open and were momentarily filled with more water before she felt her face break the surface. She spluttered and looked wildly around, setting eyes on the dark form of Severus Snape only a few feet away.

“What the _hell_ was that?!” she started yelling before the sound registered in her ears. Laughter. Severus was laughing at her, almost bending double in the water in mirth. Ooooh! She would _kill_ him! KILL him! No, that wasn’t quite enough, she would slowly _torture_ him to death! Where was her wand? On second thought, fuck the wand!

Severus’s laughter stopped abruptly as his young-wife-turned-furious-water-demon launched at him, pressing him down deep into the water’s embrace.

For several minutes, they both struggled fiercely, each attack being countered and repaid in kind, cold determination on both their faces. It wasn’t the playful water-splashing of children, or even the more arousing version of young adults. This was battle, plain and simple, one that they were both set upon winning. The heavy water slowed their movements and stopped them from causing actual injuries with their onslaughts, but both were deadly serious nonetheless. Severus cried out in pain and anger as Hermione’s knee made contact with his stomach and swallowed deep as she pushed his head under, holding it there, relishing in his struggle.

“Not so funny now, is it?!” she yelled as she came up again, coughing and spluttering. The laughter was long gone from his eyes now, and they looking almost predatory as they locked with hers, which were shooting daggers at him in response.

“Quite the contrary,” he spit out as he grabbed her arm in a bruising grip and pushed her under. She tried to kick him, tried to hit him but the water made her too slow and he easily sidestepped her movements. She yanked at the arm that was holding her down, twisting it, making Severus cry out in pain and release her. Without even stopping for air, she dove at him, taking him with her into the water, her mouth opening against the pale skin of his upper arm, her teeth sinking into his flesh…

“Aow!!! Bloody hell!” Severus yelled as they again came above water. He pulled her off him by the hair and caused her to take another deep choking swallow of water. “You bit me!”

“I did,” she answered, not backing down one inch. “You deserved it and you know it! You’re despicable, you’re –”

“Bitch!” he hissed, cutting her off with a new attack. He launched at her, diving with her, pinning her against the sandy bottom of the pool. Their eyes met through the water, painting each an eerie blue-green colour, making the edges softly blur. Hermione struggled under his hands but it only made him hold on harder, pressing her further into the sand. He was screaming at her – what he did not know – and a multitude of bubbles were erupting from his mouth, creating a wall between them. The same kind of bubbles was coming from her as well as she fought harder, more desperately to push him off her. He didn’t relent, banging her against the sand, making little clouds of it stir around their bodies. Darkness and rage were claiming him, holding him in their grasp with the same ferocity as he was holding her. Every movement she made, every struggle, every attack only fed his anger, bringing him further and further away from himself and into his own darkness. A shadow was creeping into his mind, black around the edges, shifting in the colour of human blood, taking him over, obscuring his vision, making the muscles in his arms cramp with the bruising hold on her. And then, he felt her change.

It was the tiniest of things, a muscle relaxing in her right arm, allowing his fingers to sink a fraction of an inch further into her skin. But it made his eyes open wide, pure ice creeping down his back. Memories swirled in his head as he tried to clear his mind, tried to rip himself from the shadow’s iron clutches. Images flashed in front of his eyes, faces from a long time ago, people he’d hurt, people he’d killed, people whose life he’d felt slip away under his fingers… like Hermione’s was doing now…

With that thought, his vision cleared and he saw her, no longer struggling, her eyes closed, head tilted to the side, the short hair floating around her like soft seaweed in the currents of the ocean. She looked like a sleeping mermaid, eerie and blue, lost in a fairy tale’s enchanted repose. Beautiful. He suddenly felt an overwhelming yearning to just lie down next to her, pull her into his arms and go to sleep with her in the water’s embrace. To just rest eternally by _her_ side in the soft sand, not caring anymore, swaying gently like leaves in the breeze until the end of time. If he lay down beside her now, she would always be his, in death and beyond they would be united. No more worries, no more regrets, just this, just her, just them together, resting… His heart yearned for it, pulling him down, wanting this, wanting _her_ … The next second he was pulling desperately towards the surface.

His first breath was pure life. Air streamed into his lungs in an almost painful way, making him realise how completely depleted his oxygen levels must have been. Nearly panting, he pulled Hermione’s back against his, crushing his arms into her solar plexus, making her body double over, ridding itself of the water in her lungs. She started coughing violently, water splashing from her mouth, shaking violently as she convulsed around his arms, again and again until she hung limply in his grasp, moaning softly. He turned her around and felt his arms go around her in a fierce hug, his hands wandering everywhere, touching her, verifying that she was really alive – that he hadn’t killed her in his madness. She started sobbing, the shock of the experience setting in, and he held her closer, hands coming up to caress her face, wiping away the tears, hushing her. He bent his neck and started kissing her face, her neck, every inch of her that he could reach. She cried harder but started moving against him, seemingly looking for something to hold on to as well. Her hands found their way into his hair, pulling him to her and… their eyes met.

For what felt like forever, they just stood frozen looking at each other, so close they could feel the other’s breath against their lips. Both were breathing hard, searching the other, the fear in his black eyes reflected in hers. So many things passed between them without words, so many uncertainties, so much pain - each speaking their fear as clearly as if they’d been shouting it at the top of their voices. For what felt like forever, they just stood there, frozen in time, until Hermione slowly lowered her lashes and raised her cheek slightly…

The kiss was pure desperation, and Severus had never felt anything so good, or so painful, in his entire life. Something was breaking inside him, excruciating bolts of white-hot fire spreading to every part of his body. It was beyond the pain of Cruciatus, beyond the pain of being sliced open with a dull blade or having a hot poker set on his flesh. It was liquid fire searing through him, crushing every bone, burning away every nerve end, every bit of tissue, burning away his mind, his memories, his very identity. He cried out, the agonised howl of a man being torn apart, and felt something break inside of him, shattering to a million pieces like a crystal jar being tossed against the wall. Hermione only kissed him harder and wrapped her arms around his neck, desperate not to let him pull away again.

***

Her legs came up around his waist to further secure her grip, and he only tried to withdraw for an instant before he met her again, searching in her a way to ease the pain, to bring him back into the light. He barely noticed what he was doing as he moved a hand down her back, taking her hips and positioning himself at her opening. Barely noticed slamming into her, hearing her cry out in response against his mouth. His brain fogged over with the sensory overload, pain and pleasure becoming utterly entwined – and still, it wasn’t enough. Never breaking their hold, or their kiss, he swam over to the shallow end where a small beach slanted into the clear water. Collapsing in the sand, their feet still in the water, he took her hard, feeling her rise against him in equal abandonment. He couldn't seem to get close enough, needing her everywhere, all the time. His hands wandered over her body, touching every bit of skin they could reach, moving into her hair, gripping her scull, pressing her mouth even closer against his. Words fell from his lips as he moved further, feeling the pressure building, feeling the pain and pleasure intensify. She was in a similar way, crying, talking, screaming, their sounds melting together the way their bodies did. He moved his lips to her ear and whispered more words, secrets he didn’t even know himself, words pouring up from deep inside him without him knowing how, impossible to stop as they demanded release from his lips. She cried out again, and he felt her convulse around him, wrapping her arms and legs closer around his back. He felt himself shatter a second time, the searing white pain breaking and being replaced by merciful blackness as he collapsed on top of her.

And so they rested together for a while. She in his arms, he by her side, resting together in the soft sand, united. No more worries, no more regrets, just this, just her, just them together, resting.

* * *

**Chapter 11 - Epiphany**

Hermione opened her eyes and blinked into the darkness. She was lying on something soft and quite cold. Sand. She was lying on sand, and now she tried to remember how she’d got there. Warm air was caressing her ear and she turned her head slightly, her eyes coming to rest on Severus’s sleeping face. He was lying half on top of her, arms wrapped tightly around her, a leg thrown protectively around hers and his head resting in the crook of her neck. It felt wonderful. She revelled in the feeling of having his weight push her deeper into the sand, of just feeling his body in such intimate contact with hers. Gently, she moved a hand to his back, stroking him, or starting to stroke him before the tips of her fingers came into contact with something. She frowned and followed what she’d found. It seemed to be a scar, running from his right shoulder to the middle of his back. She blushed a little and thought of her nails and the way his back had looked after their lovemaking a few weeks back. Then her finger hit something else; another scar, cutting across the first one, going in a more vertical direction. She quickly felt his back with both hands and felt tears rise in her eyes. Scars were criss-crossing the entire back, going in every direction and covering almost all skin from below the waist to the shoulders. His words from the morning when she’d wanted to help him came back to her, echoing slightly in her head.

I doubt I will be able to even see a difference, or tell those ones apart from the others.

So this was what he’d meant. She hugged him tightly, feeling tears run down her cheeks at the thought of the pain he must have born through his life to end up with such a collection. Suddenly, the body on top of her moved slightly, and she moved her head away from his hair, meeting black eyes above her.

“Hermione”

His voice was low and raspy and the single word brought the memories of the last hours reeling back to her. She suddenly couldn’t breathe, jerking herself up, pushing him away, ending up crouched and kneeling in the sand, fighting for air. In her mind, she was back under water, fighting for her life, a furious water demon holding her down. Her head had begun to spin from the lack of oxygen and she felt herself take in water. Desperation had increased and she’d fought harder, until the bubbles separating her from her attacker had suddenly stopped coming and she’d seen his face for a brief instant.

It wasn’t him anymore. Holding her down was a man possessed, eyes shining with madness, his mouth screaming silently through the water. He didn’t even seem to be aware of her, or of what he was doing. The distorted face kept shouting, the unseeing eyes burned with black fire. He’d lost control of his inner demons, utterly and completely. The man wasn’t there anymore.

With that thought, she realised she was going to die. There was nothing she could do, as she simply wasn’t strong enough. A great sadness welled up inside her. Not fear, but an overwhelming grief she couldn’t understand. Even now, as she was crouching on her knees in the soft sand, the feeling remained a mystery. As the blackness had crept in on her vision, she hadn’t fought it, but closed her eyes and surrendered to the darkness. Her last thought had been of him: not hating, not fearing – just wishing he would come with her, wishing she wouldn’t have to leave him alone. With her last thought, she had yearned for him.

And that’s what scared her shitless.

When she’d regained consciousness and the shock set in, the main part of it hadn’t been that she’d almost lost her life, but that she’d almost lost him. She’d clung to him in desperation, never wanting to let go ever again, wanting to do anything, give him anything, if he just stayed and kept her in his arms. Whatever he would have asked at that moment, she would have agreed to. Never in her life had she been as afraid as she was now, thinking back on her reaction. And it wasn’t him she was afraid of, but herself. The violence in him scared her, but it was her way of welcoming it which had her petrified. He didn’t need to break her – she would willingly do it for him. Sobbing, she crouched lower, hugging her arms tightly around herself.

“Hermione”

A warm, strong hand gently touched her shoulder and she jerked away, tipping over, rolling into the foetal position with her arms over her head, as though he’d just struck her with his fist.

“Don’t touch me,” she cried, a begging quality to her voice, “Please don’t!”

In response, he put both arms around her and pulled her to his chest. She struggled against him, fiercely at first, then more and more weakly. He held her close as she collapsed in his arms, crying softly.

“You shouldn’t do this, Severus,” she whispered. "It isn’t safe. I don’t know what I –”

He simply hushed her and rocked her gently, stroking her skin in hypnotic circles until her body relaxed and she rested limply against him.

“Why won’t you let me go?” Hermione’s voice pulled him out of the hypnotic state he’d put himself into while calming her. He turned his head and felt himself get caught in her eyes. The lashes were black and wet and the skin around them was red and puffy from crying. The pupils were dilated, and what he saw in her eyes made his pulse speed up for more than one reason.

“I just can’t,” he answered hoarsely, unable to look away.

She nodded slightly in response. He couldn’t let her go and she couldn’t break free. During the madness that had passed between them, something had changed; something had tied them together with invisible ropes, uniting them in ways neither understood and both feared. Hermione put her head against Severus’s chest and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting. They sat there for a while, each lost in thought, until Severus spoke again:

“Come, Hermione. It’s getting late and we should get back to the castle.” He rose to his feet and pulled her up with him. She started walking towards the cliff where he’d left their clothes but he pulled her back. “Not yet. We need to wash off before getting dressed. We have sand everywhere.” And he pulled her gently back towards the pool.

“Severus, no, I don’t think I –”

“We have no choice,” he said firmly, leading her into the water. He knew he had to break her fear before it got the chance to send down roots in her mind. If he let her go now, she’d never come back. Seeing her kneeling in the sand had shown him with perfect clarity how fragile their current bond was. Break it now and it would be forever broken. They had to get back into the water - for her sake, for his sake and for the sake of the relationship they were slowly building. He couldn’t let her go. He waded out to the exact spot where their fight had started and held out his arms in invitation. They trembled slightly as he waited, waited for her to come to him.

She hesitated. He felt his heart sink. Perhaps he shouldn’t have given her the option of walking away this soon. Perhaps she was stronger than she’d seemed a few minutes ago. He’d given her the opportunity because he knew it would make things easier if she chose to come to him of her own free will. And he’d been certain that she would come. Too late, he realised that he’d put himself at an impasse – something he never did. If she walked away, he wouldn’t be able to go after her without utterly breaking the fragile trust they had been building. A violation of her decision now, after everything that’d happened, would undoubtedly be the proverbial straw that broke the Thestral’s back. So he waited, arms trembling slightly.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered from a few feet away, still hesitating.

“I know.” He could hear his own voice shake somewhat. “Please, Hermione…”

The relief that went through his body when he saw her move forward and felt her come into his arms was overwhelming. Happiness bubbled through his veins and he cupped her face and kissed her deeply, feeling an unfamiliar surge of gratitude rise within him as well.

“Thank you,” he whispered as he broke the kiss and smiled down at her. She gave a quivering smile back and the bubbling in his system increased. Slowly, gently, he started to clean the sand away from her body, prying it out from her bellybutton, from between her fingers and toes and from the small crease where her breast met the ribcage. Taking great care not to get water in her face, he bent her backwards to partly float in the water and removed the sand from her hair and scalp. The smile stayed on her face.

“Take a deep breath and close your eyes,” he asked, hoping she would. Her smile faltered for a second, but then she simply leaned into his touch and let her head sink below water. He cleaned her face quickly, amazed at her trust in him. He didn’t know how to handle a trust like that; at least not in a good way. Ever since his mother died, getting a person’s trust had been a means of revenge (on what, he didn’t really know), a way to punish people for being weak and putting their lives in other people’s hands. In Slytherin, he’d learnt that trust equalled stupidity – a lesson which had been proved time and again in his time with the Death Eaters. In his life, he had, to the present day, truly trusted only two people: his mother and Albus Dumbledore. Both had died because of him.

In an illogical way, their deaths felt like betrayal. They’d betrayed him by abandoning him, by leaving him alone to live his life without them. He didn’t want Hermione to enter into that category, but realised, ice spreading along his spine, that that was exactly what she would have done, had he succeeded in killing her. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, willing himself to get in control of his body and mind. He would not succumb to the darkness with her the way he had again. This time, he wouldn’t harm, wouldn’t betray – not her, not himself. This time, things would be different.

***

They finished washing each other and moved out of the pool. When reaching the piles of clothes, Severus took his wand, conjured two fluffy towels and wrapped one around Hermione and the other around himself. She asked him to conjure a pair of sandals for her as well. He answered by piling the clothes in her arms and picking her up to carry her back the same way they’d come. When closing in on the dungeon door, she suddenly turned her head from where it had been resting snugly on his shoulder and sniffed into the air.

“What’s that smell?” she asked eyes bright. “I could swear it smells like brownies, or is that my pregnancy hormones making me hallucinate again?” Severus furrowed his brow momentarily before a light passed across his face. Right, he’d forgotten about that…

“Probably coming from the kitchens,” he said, walking the last stretch to the hidden door.

“Oh,” she sighed, disappointment in her voice, “yes, I guess that makes sense. There’s probably some sort of ventilation outlet down here. I just –”

She stopped talking mid-sentence and her jaw dropped as Severus stepped inside and put her down on the floor. There it was, right in front of her, next to the bed – the source of the wonderful smell. A big platter filled with thick, gooey brownies topped with creamy chocolate icing stood in the centre of a square table, sending out wafts of chocolaty aroma across the room. And that was only the beginning… Next to the brownies were platters of chocolate cake, éclairs, chocolate Danishes, chocolate cheesecake, petit-fours, chocolate-dipped strawberries and truffles, high cocktail glasses with chocolate mousse and a frosted container which looked like it held ice-cream. Hermione just stared at the table for a long time, looking like she couldn’t believe her eyes, like she expected her new-found chocolate treasure to disappear into a puff of smoke the second she blinked.

“You know, no matter how wide you open your mouth, the chocolate won’t just magically fly into it,” Severus’s teasing voice came from close behind her ear. “One would think that a witch who received an O on all her NEWTS would be aware of that fact.”

“You did this for me?” she breathed, still unable to take her eyes off the glorious sight in front of her.

“Well, technically your good friends the House Elves did. I sent them a note earlier asking for ‘anything with chocolate’. Seems they took ‘anything’ to mean ‘everything’,” he mused, circling the table. “My, my, five types of ice-cream. They must really be afraid of you.” His smirk was smothered when his young wife threw herself around his neck and kissed him deeply. Oddly pleased, he kissed her back, until he felt something wet against his face. Looking down at her, he raised a questioning eyebrow at the tears that were running down her cheeks.

“I don’t know,” she smiled. “I don’t think there’s a single emotion I’m not feeling right now, good and bad.” Her face grew more serious and she raised a small hand to stroke the side of his face. “Thank you, Severus,” she said, kissing him briefly before turning towards the table with chocolate. He didn’t ask “what for” this time, as he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear the answer. He simple stood there, watching her sample the things on the table with an expression of pure joy on her face; somehow, seeing her like that made him feel warm inside. It was an unfamiliar feeling.

***

Hours later, after a good dinner and quite a bit of chocolate, they were lying in bed, getting ready to go to sleep; except sleep didn’t come. In the silent darkness, the thoughts and feelings about what happened (and almost happened) in the secret pool came back to haunt them. Severus could feel Hermione tense beside him. He was lying on his back, pondering how to handle the situation, when he felt her move away, out of the bed.

“Hermione? Where are you going?” he asked, more sharply than he would have liked.

“I – I thought it might be better if I slept in my own room tonight,” she started, a slight tremor in her voice, “I don’t think I could sleep here right now.” He quickly rolled over and captured one of her hands, stopping her escape.

“Tell me what you’re afraid of.” He thought he had a good idea, but it would help her to actually tell him. She reluctantly came back onto the bed and lay down on her back, not looking at him and keeping her body from touching his. The only contact was the grip on his hand. He held it gently.

“I’m afraid of many things.” He waited in silence for her to continue. She was trembling and he could hear her breathing hitching in her throat as she tried to voice what she was thinking. Finally she whispered, “I’m scared of myself.”

For the next hour, she told him everything she’d felt from the time when he’d thrown her to the floor to the present. She told him about the growing, gnawing realisation, which had made her more and more afraid with every passing week. She told him about the denial, the anger, the confusion and the worry – how she sometimes felt like she was living the lives of two completely different people. One Hermione was strong and dominant, the other was weak and submissive, and she couldn't reconcile the two. She told him about her epiphany at the pool, told him how she was afraid of being close to him because of the way she reacted, the way she gave herself to him too completely, craving the connection she’d felt when they were close. How she welcomed pain just as long as she got to relive that heart-breaking closeness. She hated, pitied and despised herself, but most of all, she was afraid. Afraid she would die willingly at his hand, drawing her last breath, not in hate or fear, but in gratitude that she meant something to him, and in submission to his will. She was afraid because he had been right all along: she had all the makings of a broken woman. And today, she’d seen the first deep crack all too clearly. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and she held on to his hand with an almost bruising grip.

“Severus, I’m so scared.” He rolled onto his side and let her move into his arms, holding her tight as she cried against his chest. The blind anger he’d often felt at the sight of her tears, of her ‘weakness’ as he’d called it, tried to rise in him but didn’t succeed. He saw it for what it was now – fear. Spine-chilling fear was going through his every nerve, making him feel slightly sick. He took a deep breath.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked. She was silent for a long time.

“No… and that scares me more than anything.” Now he felt his anger rise.

“Oh, and it should,” he snapped. “I very nearly killed you today, Hermione! You should be very afraid of me.” He rolled onto his back, breaking their hold. Scenes from that afternoon flashed before his eyes and he breathed heavily, trying to regain his control. Then he felt her hand on his back, stroking him tentatively before the entire body followed, spooning him.

“That wasn’t you,” she said silently from behind his back. He ground his teeth.

“It bloody well was!”

“No!” she objected. “It was something controlling you, possessing you. I saw your face, it was completely contorted and the eyes were blank. Something did that to you, took you over. It wasn’t you,” she finished softly, placing a tender kiss between his shoulder blades. A split second later, she was on her back with a raging Severus Snape on top, pinning her down against the mattress.

“Don’t ever believe that!” he nearly hissed, holding her wrists in an iron grip, much like the way he had when drowning her. “Don’t ever believe that wasn’t me, Hermione. There’s a shadow inside me who wants to take control. It’s been there since I was a child, it grew in my youth and it is trying, at every moment of every day, to escape my control and slip into my mind again. It’s the poison that runs through my veins, and it has infiltrated every single cell of my being at one point or another. It’s not in me, its part of me. It’s what I am, Hermione, and if you refuse to believe that, you’ll be digging your own grave. Don’t push it aside like it doesn’t matter, and never ever allow me to do the same. Don’t ignore the darkness, Hermione.” His voice suddenly faltered and he swallowed heavily, feeling a strange thickening in his throat he hadn’t felt since he was a child. “Don’t ignore it and don’t make excuses for it. It’s there and I can’t make it go away. I can only keep it under control, and if you start convincing me it’s just some parasite and not part of who I am, it could get free… Please, Hermione, don’t tempt my dark side this way, I’m not strong enough to resist it.” He collapsed at her side, burying his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent in short, and shallow gasps. Her arms went around him without thinking.

“You’re stronger than you think. When I saw your face like that… I – I didn’t think… I thought that – I knew that I would die. But you saved me. You really did. You beat the darkness, you really did!” He stiffened under her touch, wanting to tell her what really happened - how he’d known he was killing her, and how he’d just wanted to lie down next to her and join her eternal sleep. How he’d felt that with her gone, there was nothing. Instead, he kissed her softly, marvelling at the level of trust she had in him, despite everything…

She stroked the side of his face gently, “What are you afraid of, Severus?”

“This,” he thought, while debating with herself on what to answer. “Being close to you, trusting you, accepting your trust in return… letting you into my life, becoming dependent on you… coming to care too much.” Accompanied by another shot of ice down his spine, came the realisation that all those things had already happened. Without him knowing how, she’d somehow managed to crawl her way under his skin. She was inside him now, in the most fundamental way possible. He was utterly incapable of letting her go. He just couldn’t. He needed her. He put a hand to his forehead, trying to make the reeling thoughts stop. How the fuck did this happen?!

“Severus?” Her hands were snaking their way up along his chest again and he remembered how it had felt to let it all go, to give himself to her, completely. How it had felt, making love to her on the beach, when their touch hadn’t been about lust, or even about power, he remembered the mind-blowing pain searing through him as she tore open his defences and touched places inside of him no one had touched since he was very young. Places he’d kept safe behind thick and insurmountable walls, walls that crumbled and dissolved into fine dust at her soft touch, leaving him raw and naked before her. And how indescribably good it’d felt. His entire being yearned to reach out – God, she was so close! – and have it all again. ‘Afraid’ couldn’t even begin to describe his state of mind.

“Are you afraid of me?” Incredible, how a voice so low and soft could cut into him like the sharpest of knives.

“No. I’m afraid of what I might do to you.”

“Do you want to hurt me?”

“Yes, often.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, it just rises inside me. Want for power, I believe, is the usual explanation.” They lay silent for a long time, lost in thought, until Hermione spoke again, her voice scarcely more than a whisper:

“You always hurt the ones you love.” Severus jerked away a little.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing… it was something you said on the beach today.” He stiffened.

“We both said a lot of things then,” he murmured, his voice slightly guarded, “I wouldn’t put too much importance to it.” Feigning a yawn, he rolled over on his back. “We should go to sleep; it’s been a long day.”

Stunned by his suddenly cold behaviour, she watched him roll over again until his back was facing her. She’d thought he’d been ready to open up a little, especially since she’d been so completely honest with him. Coldness washed over her and she shivered, pulling the blanket closer around her. She felt more alone than she had in years. Shaking slightly from the emotions rising up inside her, she rolled onto her side, away from him, clutching her pillow and pulling herself together into a ball. Tears rose to her eyes, for what time today she didn’t know and she tried to smother the wailing sounds she didn’t succeed in forcing back down her throat with the damp pillow.

“He said he loved me,” she whispered to the pillow, crying harder into the soft mass of fabric-covered feathers. “He really did! He actually said he loved me.”

“I know,” a soft voice whispered in her ear, and she felt the coldness and the loneliness melt away as two arms slid around her and pulled her back to rest against his warm body. Still shaking, she placed her head against his chest, just above his heart, and allowed its slightly agitated thumping to lull her to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 12 – The Wedding**

Two weeks passed. They didn’t talk any more about what they had said to each other in the dark hours of the night, both sensing that neither was ready to make a concrete statement about their feelings yet. It wasn’t exactly that they pretended that nothing had happened, but that they - by silent mutual agreement - just didn’t talk about it. Despite the silence, however, things had definitely changed. They acted differently around each other now. There was a building trust and a budding friendship, which grew stronger with every day. Each felt a little safer knowing that while a piece of them had been lost to the other person, they had taken a piece in return. They had reached a status quo, each unwilling to use the power they held over the other since it would only backfire on themselves. A balance of terror of sorts, but one that brought serenity rather than fear. They were slowly growing closer.

They went back to the secret pool almost every day, spending the hot hours in the afternoon relaxing in the cool water. It was a cave, carved out of the stone that formed the grounds of Hogwarts castle and the only light in it seemed to come from the water itself. According to the legend (which Severus had heard from the retiring Potions Master when he took up the position), it had been made half a millennium ago by a Potions professor who needed a secret place in which to meet his mistresses, and its location was protected by similar enchantments as was the Chamber of Secrets. Only the resident Potions Master could find it, and even those he showed it to were unable to find it again without him. So he took Hermione there, day after day, and their afternoon baths soon became a ritual. In the pool, they could let go of the world and just be free for a while. It became their sanctuary.

On the morning of August 11, an owl came to Hermione from Ginny, holding a formal invitation to her wedding two weeks later. Seeing as Justin was Muggle-born and most of his family had no idea that he was a wizard, they had settled for a Muggle wedding with a medieval theme. The ceremony was to be held in the grounds of an old castle in Cornwall, not too far from the Finch-Fletchly country estate. By the tone of the letter, Ginny was very excited, and she was asking Hermione to come to the Burrow a few days early so that they would have time to fit her dress. It seemed Ginny was still set on having her as her bridesmaid.

“Severus?” He looked up from where he was sitting, reading in the shade of a large birch tree. The stifling heat had gone down somewhat in the last few days and they were having lunch by the lake, feet resting in the water.

“Yes?”

“Ginny’s wedding is in two weeks and she’s asking me to come stay with them, to prepare for the ceremony and make clothes and such.”

“And?” There was a tension in his jaw and she could see wariness form in his eyes. It made her a bit nervous.

“Well… I would like to go.” He eyed her intently.

“Are you asking me for my permission?” The voice was part anger, part accusation, part curiosity and part disappointment. She cleared her throat.

“No, I’m not,” she stated firmly, keeping her gaze steady as it met his in a silent struggle.

“Then what are you asking?” She drew a deep breath, steeling herself.

“Will you come with me?”

Surprise and chock bloomed on his face before his eyes narrowed.

“Why?” She crept closer, leaning across the blanket to place a hand on his arm.

“Because I want you by my side.” He blinked, and then shook his head.

“Your friends will be there.”

“I know.”

“I can’t stand any of them and the feeling is entirely mutual.”

“True.”

“They will want to see you alone.” Even as he thought that, a stab of jealousy hit him. He could almost see Weasley’s face, eyes alight with appreciation of his former girlfriend.

“I suppose they will.”

“Chances are we’d all make one another quite miserable.”

“Also true.”

“Then forgive me for saying so, Hermione,” he said softly, “but it seems to be a rather stupid idea.” She smiled.

“Perhaps.” A hand came up to touch his face, her form leaning closer to him.

“Then why did you ask me to come?” he asked, impatience mixed with bewilderment and caution in his voice.

“Because… I love you.”

There, she thought, she’d said it. Leaving him no time to react to her words, she swiftly closed the space between them and kissed him softly, proving her statement. He stiffened and she moved her lips and tongue over him, coaxing him to respond to her. He felt a small hand caress the back of his head, drawing him in, and his own hand seemed to wander of its own accord to the small of her back, massaging gently. Different thoughts and feelings were warring in his mind and heart, even as he became aware of a movement in the lower half of his face. His lips parted and her tongue slid between them, finding his own and stroking it. His mouth played with hers, nibbling and suckling and pressing and sliding – all while his inner being seemed to watch the development from a distanced perspective. He felt everything and nothing at the same time, he was drowning in the emotional sweetness of her and watching the process callously from far away. _Such weakness…_ The Observer curled his imaginary hands into fists, longing to strike down, to punch a shattering hole in the revoltingly sweet tableau before him. He loathed this other part of himself, giving himself to her like that, giving in to emotional weakness. And _her_ , flaunting her feelings before him like this, practically _begging_ him to take advantage of her vulnerable position. It was enough to make him sick. He rolled his eyes as the other actually smiled and then just watched in stupefaction as he threw his head back and let out a ringing laugh. The sound was liberated, happy, _innocent_ almost. He didn’t remember himself ever having made a sound like that. The sickening display went on as the other grabbed Hermione’s face and attacked it with kisses. Then he let go and smiled, _again_ , and through the haze surrounding him, the Observer could hear his voice:

“I’ll come with you.”

 _Fine_. If that was how things were, he would play the game. He could feel himself fading, being pushed further aside by the happiness bubbling inside the body. The other part of him was taking over, strength emanating from every molecule. He would retreat for now, go into hiding, bide his time. Sooner or later, this _infatuation_ would pass and he would again be the master of his own body, mind and heart. It was only a matter of time. The thought that this slip of a girl would be able to hold him captive for any longer period of time was laughable. He would be back in control. And then… oh, vengeance would be so very sweet… A wicked smile on his imaginary face, he backed away into the deepest shadow of the mind, watching waves of bright light crash into the space he’d just vacated.

***

“What time is it?” Ginny asked, turning around agitatedly to look at Hermione.

“It’s six thirty-nine, exactly one minute later than when you asked last time. Ginny, please, just relax.”

“I’m just so nervous,” Ginny said, “In twenty-one minutes, I’ll be walking down the aisle, getting _married_. It’s unreal.” Hermione smiled a little.

“I know. It’s insane, really. You and Justin look happy, though. I’m sure everything will be fine.” Ginny’s eyes met hers in the mirror.

“You know, I think you might be right. I do like him, and I think there’s a good chance we’ll grow to love each other very much.” Her voice dropped a few notes and she gave Hermione an impish wink, “His skills in bed are very promising.” Hermione let out a snort of laughter.

“I take it you didn’t exactly listen to your brothers’ sermons about remaining a virgin until the wedding night?”

“Oh, please!” Ginny rolled her eyes. “I agree with Katie on this: to marry someone without sleeping with them first is like buying a broom without asking for a test drive. And I think I’m under enough stress as it is with the wedding. Having to worry about a possible disaster on my wedding night on top of that would most likely have put me over the edge.”

“And you’re happy with the test drive?” Hermione teased.

“It’s a good broom. Needs some tweaking and polishing here and there, but there’s a lot of potential. I think I’ll be a very satisfied customer.” Both girls giggled.

“Speaking of which,” Ginny said with a sly smile, “how are you liking your own broom? Is it good enough to let you ‘catch the Snitch’?” Hermione blushed.

“Could we please stop with the Quidditch metaphors?” Ginny laughed and nodded her head, pulling tentatively at a few curls around her face.

“Sure, now give me some details. Is he good?” Hermione thought back on the previous night and her face went a bit redder.

“Yes, he’s good. Excellent in fact.” Ginny smirked.

“I figured as much. My room is right next to yours, you know.”

“But… I mean…”

“Yeah, yeah, you put up Silencing Charms.”

“Then how?... I mean…” Ginny let out another laugh.

“Well, we share a wall… and the wall, well, moved… rhythmically. It sounded very passionate.” Hermione moved to adjust the trail of Ginny’s robes, trying to hide her burning face.

“Could we please talk about something else? Where did you get this gown?”

“In London, actually. In a Muggle shop for medieval clothes. It was love at first sight.” Ginny twirled around, letting her friend admire the gown from all angles. It was a creamy colour, cut just below her breasts, a split overskirt showing off a slightly golden fabric underneath. The sleeves were very wide from the elbow down and strips of gold brocade adorned the seams and neckline. Her red hair hung loose and curled about her shoulders and a crown of creamy roses had been placed on top of her head.

“You look beautiful.” Ginny smiled widely.

“Thanks, I’m quite pleased myself.” There was a knock at the door and Katie Bell-Weasley put in her head.

“Hi, are you guys ready? Justin is starting to look a bit nervous over here and I think it’d be best if you came out and shackled him down before he gets any stupid ideas in his head.” She winked at Hermione, who just laughed at the look of panic that shot across Ginny’s face.

“She’s just kidding, Gin. Now, come on. Let’s get you married.”

With a slightly trembling hand, Ginny Weasley picked up her bouquet from the dressing table and followed them out the door.

***

Severus Snape was sitting in one of the middle rows, watching the ceremony of his former pupils. Technically, Ginevra was still his student since she had one year left at Hogwarts. He wondered if she would complete her education or do what her mother had done and stay at home to breed a whole Quidditch team of red-head offspring who would terrorise his dungeons in a decade’s time.

He let his eyes slide over the scene, pausing for a while on the calm water of the sea and the multitude of colours the setting sun was using to paint the surroundings. The August night was warm and only a slight breeze worried the ribbons and flowers. It was a picture of beauty and serenity. He wondered how the ceremony would have fared if the weather hadn’t been quite so accommodating.

He looked at Hermione, standing a little to the side, holding a bouquet of cream-coloured roses. The burgundy velvet of her gown clung snugly to her upper body and arms, only to flow richly over her stomach and forearms. It was much the same design as the bridal gown, but the way her protruding stomach parted the top fabric and showed off the underskirt was different. She looked like a ripe plum, ready for him to pluck, lush and colourful, waiting for him. She felt his eyes on her and turned her head, smiling for a moment before turning her attention back to the couple under the flowered arch. He felt his heart swell a little in his chest. This was his woman. Someone who loved him, cared for him and eased the darkness around him. His friend. His lover. His wife. He suddenly felt a sting of jealousy towards the bride and groom, a sting of injustice that his wife should stand at the sideline, alone, watching something she’d never have for herself. He felt the need to stand up and walk over to her, leading her to the middle of the aisle and proclaim her to be his to the entire world. He wanted to kiss her beneath the flowered arch, feel the binding spell tie them together and walk down the aisle with her on his arm, proudly presenting her as his to the people present. He wanted every man to know that she was untouchable, branded by and bound to him. He wanted everyone to know that she was his alone, forever.

The last thought jerked him out of his reverie and he mentally shook his head. For almost two weeks now, he’d been behaving like a love-sick fool, catching himself at opening up to her and finding himself in emotionally intimate situations which just seemed to sneak up on him. The voices in his head still screamed for control, still urged him to push her away and punish her whenever she got too close, but they now seemed to come from a badly tuned-in radio, all forlorn and scratchy. The lure of his connection with Hermione was so strong it terrified him whenever he was focused enough to take a step back and examine it, instead of just submitting to it, letting himself bask in the light. He caught himself smiling, caressing, being actually nice (well, by his standards), and almost every night, he would wake up in the dark hours before dawn and just lie there, holding her, looking down at her sleeping form. He would feel at peace then, truly at peace. In those stolen moments in the darkness, he could forget all the arguments as to why he shouldn’t get close to her, why he shouldn’t let her access anything that might hurt him. In those moments, the fear, anger and urge to hurt her for making him weak would subside and he would just hold her, revelling in the closeness and calm she unconsciously brought him.

The couple kissed and the music began to play. He stood up and looked on as the other guests cheered and clapped, throwing rice and rose petals on the newlyweds. His eyes never left the bridesmaid walking a few feet behind them, and treacherous thoughts began to form in his mind once again. Perhaps he could trust her, love her, make a life with her. Perhaps there could be something more to this marriage than just a temporary solution to breed a couple of new wizards and witches. Perhaps he could have a relationship that was more than a strategic liaison of trying to use the other more than they could use you.

 _”Enough,”_ a firm voice hissed in his ear. _”Trust her and she’ll destroy you, unless you destroy her first. Keep her if you like, but make sure to break her. Make sure that your dominance is so complete and that her mind is so broken that she couldn’t even think of leaving you. Make her your slave if you wish to keep her and banish those ridiculous thoughts of her being your equal. Put her on a pedestal and you will be her slave, and she will crush you. Pin her under your shoe and she will worship you like a god, always yielding to your desires. Make her yours, completely. She’s ripe, she’s ready. You know it. All you have to do is to break her slowly, using her love for you against her. You know how, you’ve done it before, seen it done a hundred times. You don’t have to beat her, don’t have to become your father. It’s only to make sure you keep control of your life. Do it. Do it now… Do it…”_

He watched Hermione, an almost predatory gleam in his eyes, saw her smile for the camera as the wedding party lined up for pictures. He focused on her slim neck, laid bare to him by the absence of hair. He imagined the sound of it cracking under his hands, the surge of power coursing through him as he ruled her very life. He took a step forwards. But then, to his mind’s eye, the brown curls just above the tender flesh morphed into wispy blonde tendrils, and the face changed into the soft one he’d loved so long ago. Closing his eyes, he saw his mother, lying limp on the floor, empty blue eyes turned towards the ceiling. He could hear the sound of his father’s mad laughter and shouted curses ringing in his ears, followed by deep sobs and screams of anger. He remembered the hard kick to the gut and the other to his face, breaking his nose. He could still hear the curses and accusations that this was all his fault, that he’d caused the death of his own mother, that he had _murdered_ her by turning her against _him_ \- her husband and master. He remembered crawling to her, touching her face, hugging her unresponsive body in agony as blood and tears dropped from him and got smeared on her pale skin. He’d tried to remove it, to clean her, but the more he touched her, the more blood there seemed to be. As he was looking frantically through his pockets for a handkerchief, he’d suddenly felt his father’s strong hands grab him and pull him from her with such force he flew into the balustrade and cracked several of the slender wooden posts. Blood clouding his vision, the last thing he remembered was his father’s face, filled with disgust, as he moved his boot under him and kicked him down the long, winding staircase.

***

Hermione felt him approach as she stood looking out over the sea. The sun was very low, the sky an impressionist painting. He didn’t touch her, stopping a few feet away, seemingly hesitating. She turned around, waiting. They stood there for a long time and she had the time to see countless different feelings pass across his face. Finally, he took a deep breath, moved a foot closer and took one of her hands in his.

“Hermione, I… I love you,” he said, voice hoarse with something undefined. She felt her heartbeat grow heavy and fast and began to open her mouth. He quickly raised a hand, and she closed it again.

“Please hear me out,” he started, looking down at their hands for a while as though uncertain of how to proceed. “I love you, Hermione, and I want to give this marriage a try. I want to try to be your husband, to learn to trust you, to share myself with you… to accept you as my equal. It’s so hard, though – already now, I’m fighting a battle with myself every day, trying not to give in to my darker impulses. I don’t know if I will be successful in the long run, if I will end up hurting you… or even worse.” He swallowed thickly. “But I do want to try. I’ve lived my life cutting myself off, never trusting anyone, making sure to hurt people or push them away before they got a chance to get to me. I’ve betrayed so as not to risk loyalty, injured to avoid love, and even killed just to smother hope and life.” He moved a little closer, moving her hand with his to cradle the side of his face, leaning into her touch as he fixed her with his eyes.

“I cannot guarantee your happiness, Hermione. I can’t even guarantee your safety. Life with me won’t be easy and I cannot promise you that my feelings won’t change later on. I know I don’t have much to offer you, but I want, nevertheless, to make you an offer, instead of just taking what I please. I want to try to learn to respect you, to love you, to be a man, for myself and for you. Please, Hermione, will you let me try?”

“Of course I will,” she whispered, moving her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. His arms went around her as well and he almost shook with the tension that started to leave his body. His breath was choked and laboured as he placed kisses into her hair and down her neck. His hands came up to cradle her face, touching her, pulling her to him, claiming her mouth in an almost desperate kiss. He felt his throat thicken as the now familiar pain started to course through him, ripping down his protective walls, opening him to her. He felt her enter, fusing with him, their hearts joining the same rhythm. He tore his lips away from hers and started kissing her face, her neck, her hair, needing to touch her everywhere. She was in his blood, in his gut, at the very centre of his being. He felt like he was drowning in her.

“God, I love you so much,” he whispered urgently, the words pushing themselves out from somewhere deep inside him, making him choke. She grabbed his face with both hands and moved away a little, enough for him to see the trembling smile and the tears lurking behind her glowing eyes.

“And I love you. More than I thought I ever could.” The words filled him with warmth and he smiled.

“Are you ready for this?”

“I don’t know… but I want to try,” she replied, her smile growing broader as she snaked her arms around his neck again and leaned in to kiss him thoroughly.

* * *

**Chapter 13 – The Reception**

The reception was a grand affair. While the bride’s family had just enough money to make sure the bride arrived suitably clothed to the altar, the Finch-Fletchly family had money to burn. At least that was the conclusion Hermione reached while skimming the great hall of the castle. It looked a bit like Hogwarts, she thought, but without the magical elements. The stone ceiling was high and vaulted, but void of enchantments. Candles were placed on the many tables instead of floating around in the air. But, still, it felt familiar. There were almost two hundred guests, and Hermione soon gave up trying to remember everyone’s name. Instead, she crept closer to her husband, feeling a surge of happiness as his arm came up to encircle her back possessively.

Dinner started out very agreeably and went downhill from there. They were seated at the head table, surrounded by Weasleys. Somehow, everyone but Percy and Charlie had managed to survive the war, which was really quite extraordinary, seeing as the entire family had been active members of the Order. The food was excellent, but as the wine flowed (due to the many sorrows which needed to be drowned as well as the festive spirit), the company became less so. As the dessert came in, Ron was snogging Katie in front of them and the twins alternated between trying to hit on Justin’s newly widowed mother, telling dirty jokes and giving Ginny graphic advice on how to treat her husband on their wedding night. Thankfully, the band soon made their appearance and Hermione and Snape were able to gracefully remove themselves from the others, venturing back into the garden and slumping down on a bench.

“You’re going to hate me now, aren’t you?” Hermione asked, putting her legs up across Severus’ lap. “For bringing you here, I mean.”

“Don’t be daft, Hermione,” he half-snapped. “You’re not the one behaving like an idiot.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know they could get like this.”

“They’re young, drunk and tactless. I can’t say I’m overly surprised.”

“They didn’t use to be like this. I mean... I’ve seen Ron and the twins drunk before, but I thought they were funny. A little vulgar, yes, but essentially funny.”

“Perhaps you were drunk as well on those occasions?” he suggested, moving a hand up to casually play with a stray curl at her nape. “Alcohol tends to have a numbing effect on one’s sense of propriety, after all.”

“Maybe a little,” she admitted, “but there’s no way I could even get drunk enough to think that their behaviour tonight is funny.” She nestled closer to him, tilting her head to capture his lips in a lingering kiss. She could taste the strong flavour of whisky still on his tongue. She pulled away.

“You should be drunk as well,” she stated. “So how come you’re not?”

“Oh, but I am, Hermione,” he replied, bending down to take her lips again. “But, I, unlike the little boys in the castle, am a man who can hold my liquor.”

“I’m glad,” she said. “It really wouldn’t have been fun to be all alone in there.”

“I agree. Better to be all alone out here...” He leaned in again but she pulled away, laughing.

“I believe your sense of propriety has been numbed after all,” she teased. “Anyone could come by and see us!”

“We could go down on the beach...”

“Or maybe just sit here? It’s been a very long day.”

He felt like she’d just kicked him in the gut. She _refused_ him? She’d never refused him before. _Tired_. The word flew across his mind but he couldn’t seem to understand its meaning as more violent emotions accosted him. He, Severus Snape, turned down by his own wife... what kind of a marriage was this? A memory suddenly surfaced, flashing in front of his eyes.

_“You fucking bitch, how dare you refuse me?!”_

_“Please, I didn’t mean... I’m just so tired, I didn’t mean...!”_

_“Shut up! You’re supposed to be my wife! Your duty is to love, honour and – above all – obey me! You should be fucking grateful I even bother with you anymore, all bloated and_ fat _as you are now...”_

_“I’m sorry! Please Julius, I’m sorry. I’ll work harder, I promise! I’ll lose some weight, I’ll –”_

_“Forget it,” His voice was suddenly very cold. “Don’t think you can do this to me and just walk free with an apology.” The dark man advanced on the woman, pinning her against the wall. Her eyes widened in fear and a smirk spread on his face. “You need to be taught a lesson, my dear.”_

_“No, please... please!”_

_“No, no, none of that, Celeste. You know I only do it for your own good. I can’t tell you how much it pains me to be forced to do this. You know how dear you are to me, sweetheart. I only want to help you, you understand that, surely?” He leaned in and placed an almost sweet kiss on her trembling lips before suddenly and without warning grabbing a fistful of hair and yanking hard, pushing her down to smash against the smooth wood of the table._

_“This is your own fault,” he said sternly while walking over to the fireplace, flipping through the iron rods in the stand. “If you were a proper wife, this wouldn’t happen.” He selected a fork, dark and unrelenting, and walked slowly back to where the blonde woman was crying silently..._

The memory of her first scream as the iron descended with full force on his mother’s back made Severus jerk involuntarily, even now, so many years later. He could still see her distorted face, her back arching as another lash hit her, then one more, and one more... He remembered his father’s gleeful face, eyes shining as he beat her harder, revelling in her screams. She’d been pregnant with one of his little sisters. One that never saw the light. He must have been seven or eight at the time, all he could really remember was the smell of soot as he crouched in the coal bin, keeping still and quiet as his mother had taught him. He’d tried to block out the sounds, tried not to look through the gap of the half-open door, but he hadn’t succeeded. There was no way to block out such a thing. The pain and the glee and the twisted arousal could be felt in every part of his body. Every scream was agony, every dull thud of the rod a white piercing jolt of pain. He remembered the rest of the scene, the pleading, the slightly different screams, the heavy pounding rhythm and the grinding squeaks the table made against the floor, his father’s panted breaths... though only now, he realised what it was that he’d actually seen.

Unsteadily, he got to his feet.

“Severus, are you alright?” Hermione’s voice was worried, her hazel eyes wide as she looked up at him. He couldn’t meet them – his vision swirled with pictures of his mother, eyes shut tight in pain and humiliation, tears streaking her face, mixing with smudges of deep, red blood and bluish bruises, as his father kept pounding into her, throwing her against the harsh wood, again and again... He had to get away.

“Just leave me alone,” he managed to choke out, before striding swiftly away, making it out of her range of vision before collapsing into a flowering bush and being violently ill.

***

Ten minutes later, he found himself at the bar, ordering shots of Firewhiskey as fast as he was able to gulp them down. His need for control had been harshly pushed aside for his need for oblivion. That was all he wanted, all he needed – to forget, to make his mind a blissful blank and pull himself down the deep well of nothingness. Hand still trembling, he grabbed his tenth shot and threw it back.

“That’s an impressive row of glasses you have there, mate,” someone said very close to his ear. He had his wand out before the last word had left the other’s lips.

“What do you want?!” he snarled, pressing the tip of the wand against the other man’s neck.

“Easy, easy! Bloody hell, put that away!” the other urged, his eyes wide with apprehension. Severus took a moment to study him: mid-twenties, dark hair, strong jaw, nose that looked like it’d been broken at least a couple of times, heavy build, fear in his eyes... As quickly as he’d drawn it, he put the wand back inside his robes.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that,” he cautioned, turning back to the bar, draining his eleventh Firewhiskey.

“I’m sorry, alright?” the other said, coming to stand next to him, ordering his own row of shots from the bartender. “I didn’t know you’d be so jumpy, mate.”

“Let’s just say I’ve had good reason to protect my back before,” Severus mumbled, raising his own glass to meet the gesture of the other. “Just who the hell are you, anyway?”

“I’m Bruce. Friend of Ron’s. We met when the Canons played my team, the Sparks – the Sydney Sparks that is –” he added, “last summer.”

An Australian Quidditch player. Oh joy.

“Fascinating,” he drawled, not caring if the other heard the heavy layer of sarcasm.

“It really is!” Obviously, Bruce was too drunk to notice. “And Ron’s a really good mate.” Severus looked at the dance floor, spotting Mr and Mrs Weasley crawling all over one another to the soft music. The other noticed him looking and a leer spread across his face.

“Yeah, that’s a great girl he has. I bet Katie could melt a popsicle just by looking at it, not to mention using other techniques...” Severus raised an eyebrow as the other continued in conspiratorial tones. “Yeah, she’s real friendly, you know. Adventurous. And she loves everything to do with Quidditch. There was this one time, we were having a big party, and everyone was pissed as hell, where she came up to me and just pulled me into the bathroom. Said she wanted me and that she was hot and that she needed me to fuck her. So I did. Fucking amazing.”

Severus felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. So Weasley was being cuckolded by one of his friends. Wasn’t that interesting...?

“Does he know?” he asked, motioning his head in Weasley’s direction.

“Don’t know, really. I think they might have some sort of agreement. Open relationship, you know, ‘cause Ron doesn’t exactly say no when the Quidditch groupies start fawning over him. I think they’re into threesomes as well. Katie has a really hot girlfriend, if you know what I mean...”

Severus figured he must be so drunk that he was starting to hallucinate. The picture of Ron Weasley as sexually adventurous was not something he needed when already feeling slightly ill. Then something clicked in his mind.

“So, Miss B- _Katie_ , is she this _generous_ with everyone?” he asked, eyes sliding along the slim body moving its hips in sensuous circles on the dance floor. Bruce laughed.

“Depends on your equipment, mate,” he said. “Only interested in the real goods, far as I can tell. She told me once she didn’t want to waste her time with men who wouldn’t be able to satisfy her any more than she had too. Seems Ron’s a bit lacking in that department.”

 _And you call yourself his friend..._ Severus found himself thinking. Then again, he’d had similar friends during his Death Eater days...

“I think she’ll be very pleased then,” he said with a smirk, draining yet another shot. He let his eyes roam over her slender form again, pausing at her full lips, slightly parted as she breathed. She was pleasing enough, but it was the thought of shaming Weasley that made him grow hard. To make her scream when he couldn’t. To make her shudder with need when he couldn’t. To make her yearn for him, Severus Snape, while in bed with her husband... Ah, what sweet revenge that would be. His gaze swept across the floor, taking in the forms of Cecily Triton-Potter and Maria O’Connor-Longbottom as well. Both were pretty – a blonde beauty and an Irish colleen, gold and fiery red, curves in all the right places. He envisioned himself taking them to bed, one by one and then together – driving them into a lust-hazed frenzy as Potter, Weasley and Longbottom were tied to the wall, forced to watch him...

“Here, have the rest,” he said hoarsely, motioning the three remaining shots over to the Australian. “Nice meeting you.”

“Good luck, mate,” the other replied, raising his glass to him in a drunken salute.

***

He walked around the floor, stalking out his prey, preparing for the pounce. She was standing next to a wall, a glass of wine in her hand, talking to a pretty dark-haired girl he hadn’t seen before. She looked sultry – a South American exotic flower, colourful and sensuous. For a second, he forgot about his primary target, then his eyes widened slightly as he saw a small bronzed hand come up to stroke the side of the other girl’s breast. The gesture was quick and inconspicuous to the casual observer, but spoke volumes to him. This wasn’t just a friend, this was a lover’s touch.

_“I think they’re into threesomes as well. Katie has a really hot girlfriend, if you know what I mean...”_

Well, _now_ he certainly knew what the other had meant.

Checking that Ron Weasley and his annoying brothers were properly occupied (they were, it seemed a tequila race was on its way over at the bar), he walked over to the two girls and put both hands on Katie’s shoulders, running them down along her arms, pressing his chest against her back and leaning down to whisper in her ear.

“Dance with me.” It wasn’t a question and she followed him without protest, eyes widening slightly when she saw who it was that had voiced the request. Women were so predictable, he thought as he led her out on the dance floor. Act like their master and they will obey. Take command and they will follow you without question. Lucius had given him many valuable lessons back in their youth, and he put them all to good practice as he pulled the brunette into a firm grip, bending her backwards in a slow dip before pulling her up, inch by inch, pressing her body against him. Her breathing was already slightly quicker than it had been. This would be almost too easy.

He guided her through the soft blues, through intricate patterns of steps and spins, making them float across the smooth stone. He continued to dip her, every now and then, knowing she’d like it. He’d long ago discovered that a dip was really a symbol of sexual submission, the woman letting herself fall, putting herself in the power of her partner, confident that he would guide her through the motions. The different turns were varied, designed to let her experience all of his body and keeping her on her toes. It was working beautifully, he thought, letting her body dip back in a circular movement that caused her hips to press intimately against his, making her gasp. Desire was burning bright in her eyes as she met his, the flush in her cheeks telling him she was more than ready.

“Why me?” The question was little more than a husky whisper. He smiled, moving his right hand down to massage the small of her back while keeping her hips firmly pressed against his own. They swayed rhythmically to the music for a few beats and he leaned his head against hers, positioning his lips close to her ear for maximal effect.

“Because, Kathryn,” he murmured, choosing to use her given name rather than the nickname everyone else seemed to be using. The shuddering breath against his neck told him that he’d made the right choice. “I was watching you dance, seeing all the passion and fire rising inside you, ready to flow from every cell of your being. I saw your want, your _need_ and your frustration over lengthy stimulation without fulfilment.” He lowered his voice another couple of notes, nearly touching the soft skin of her earlobe now. “I wanted to be the man to release all that fire, to fill you to the brink and watch you fall apart in ecstasy around me, again and again.” Her heart was beating so fast he could all but hear it now, her breath coming in shallow pants as she lowered her mouth to his neck, tongue darting out to lick a pulsing vein experimentally. The touch sent a jolt of heat down to his groin, and with a last intricate spin, he ended the dance, his face only inches from hers as he held her eyes captive.

“So, what do you say, Kathryn?” he whispered, teeth grazing the soft flesh at her neck. “Are you ready to discover just how much of a woman you have the potential to become?”

He knew her answer even before she gave him a small nod, eyes glittering with lust and excitement. He felt something small and hard slide into his pocket, her hand brushing along the length of his shaft as she did so – a key. He almost wanted to laugh. In less than fifteen minutes, he’d utterly seduced one of his former students, one who’d – undoubtedly – used to hate him up until right then. It was really a shame that Dumbledore had required of him to lead such a morally upstanding life for the past sixteen years. The majority of the sixth and seventh years at least were bound to be just as curious and eager as this girl, with a little persuasion...

“Ten minutes,” she murmured in his ear before stepping out of his embrace, dipping into a swift polite curtsy before casually walking off the floor and back to her friend. He walked in the other direction, withdrawing the key from his pocket as he reached the wall. It was heavy, he noted, the words _Second floor, third corridor, fifth door to your left_ having been carved into the adjoining square of metal with much care. Smiling, he turned around, preparing to start making his way to the appropriate locked door, when something small collided with him and pushed him back roughly into the stone. His head snapped up, ready to face his attacker.

Only to meet Hermione’s tearful eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 14 - Reparations**

His sudden departure had shaken her. One moment they were sitting peacefully on the bench, cosily wrapped up in each other, and the next he was stumbling to his feet, telling her to leave him alone before disappearing from the garden. For the longest time, she just remained in her seat, accosted by thoughts and emotions, hoping that he would come back. When he didn’t, she got to her feet, straightened her gown and decided to go back to the party. She wouldn’t start looking for him, not yet. She could stand waiting a little while longer. The memory of his face as he’d left, however, made something clench painfully in her gut. He’d had an almost wild look in his eyes, wild and pained, as though he’d just seen something horrific and needed to get away from it. She was worried about him.

“Please, Severus, don’t do anything stupid!” she whispered urgently under her breath as she made her way towards the reception area.

***

Before she reached the ballroom, however, a small foot inside her decided to press against her bladder, and she veered off towards the ladies’ room, slipping into one of the stalls and closing the door behind her.

Less than a minute later, she heard the outer door open and close again, and two pairs of feet started clapping against the stone. She recognised the voices – they were two girls in Ginny’s year... Hannah and.... Caprice, if she wasn’t mistaken. She’d never really known them, their only interaction at Hogwarts being the few times she’d reported them to Professor McGonagall for sneaking into the boys’ dormitories in the middle of the night. She didn’t really want to face them right then either, so she remained where she was, leaning her head against the cool wall of the cubicle and closing her eyes.

“... imagine if Ron Weasley had been stuck with _her_!”

“Yeah, I bet he’s counting his blessings that he escaped _that_ horrible fate.”

Hermione’s eyes snapped open. They were talking about Ron, that much was clear, but the girl they were referring to... it sounded almost like...

“Can you imagine dating someone like her? She probably quotes _Hogwarts, A History_ during sex.” The other girl snickered.

“Yeah, or recites the uses of human saliva in Potions making while kissing.”

“Well, that should make her a good match for Snape.” More laughs. Hermione was starting to feel mildly sick to her stomach.

“Oh, I don’t know,” one of the girls – Hannah, she thought – said in a conspiratorial voice. “There’s something about him that’s just really attractive. I think it’s his hands. Oh, and his voice of course. God, that voice was the only reason I took Potions past fifth year.”

“Are you kidding?” the other girl asked in astonishment. “You’re honestly saying that you think _Snape_ is sexy? Have you gone completely barmy?”

“Oh, come on Caprice! You’re blonde, not blind! Besides, I’ve heard some things...”

“What?!” Hermione pressed her ear closer to the wall, careful not to make a sound. The slight nausea she’d been feeling was growing stronger. What kind of stories could these girls possibly have to tell about the man who was now her husband?

“Well...” Hannah started, lowering her voice, making it hard for Hermione to follow, “he’s supposed to be really great in bed.”

“How do you know that?!” the other girl gasped, Hermione’s head echoing that same question.

“My sister told me. She used to complain about him a lot while he was her teacher, you know, like most other people. And then, two summers after she graduated, she suddenly got this smug expression on her face whenever his name was mentioned – usually when I was complaining about him...”

“And?!!!” Caprice almost shrieked. Hermione could feel her throat going dry.

“She’d met him at a conference in London. He brought her back to his apartment and shagged her silly. Best sex in her life apparently,” Hannah said, a spark of excitement in her voice.

Hermione felt a sudden wave of jealousy hit her like a slap in the face. Unbidden, names started flying across her mind, trying to locate the face of the girl who was the cause of her emotional upheaval. What was Hannah’s last name again? Claret? Cousteau?... and then it hit her – Hannah’s name was _Clearwater_. Same as Ravenclaw prefect Penelope Clearwater, the girl who’d saved Hermione from being killed by a Basilisk by using her mirror to guide them through the corridors. The girl who’d been going out with Percy for more than four years – and... She suddenly stiffened, a shot of pure ice seeping down her spine. ...and _left_ him rather brusquely the summer between their fifth and sixth year - _two years after Penelope had graduated from Hogwarts._

_Oh God..._

She put her head between her knees, trying to block out the memories and images that filled her head. Percy returning to the Burrow, a broken version of the confident young man she’d last seen. Unemployed, alone and miserable. Severus’ slight innuendos at Grimmauld Place about how perhaps he hadn’t been man enough to keep his fiancée interested. Percy’s quick exits whenever she and Ron would kiss, or even hug. The sadness in his eyes as he rubbed one of her brown curls between his fingers one drunken night. He’d been killed by Death Eaters before they even went back to Hogwarts.

“...ever see him again?” Hermione’s head snapped up and her concentration quickly focused on the girls on the other side of the thin wall.

“Every once in a while. She used to work in Hogsmeade, you know – rather convenient. But then she got married last Christmas and I don’t think she’s been with him since.”

“Yeah, I guess Michel wouldn’t like that,” Caprice said. Hannah chuckled and lowered her voice again.

“Oh, I don’t know... Ok, so this is a complete secret, alright? Swear you won’t tell _anyone_.”

“Of course!” Hermione could almost hear the other girl leaning closer with wide eyes.

“Penny didn’t meet Michel in the store like she’s telling everyone. She met him...” Hannah paused for what felt like an eternity and all Hermione could hear was the blood pounding in her ears as she waited. “...She met Michel... in Snape’s bed.”

“No way!” Caprice gasped, luckily loudly enough to drown the sound of protest that had escaped Hermione’s own mouth. She quickly covered it with her hand, feeling as though the room was swirling around her.

“It’s true!” Hannah insisted. “Apparently, they did quite a bit of threesomes. Usually, Penny would bring one of her girlfriends though. She says he enjoys variation.” With every word coming out of the girl’s throat, Hermione felt the tightening in her chest grow more painful. She didn’t want to know all this. Didn’t want to know the things he’d done, the things he’d experienced – the women he’d had, and undoubtedly compared her with. She blinked furiously, trying to hold back the tears that were forming behind her eyes, without success. A big, glistening drop rolled down her face as she pressed her head even closer to the wall.

“So, what? Professor Snape is, like, bisexual or something?” the other girl asked, wonder in her voice. Hannah laughed again.

“Caprice, no! Just ‘cause you have a threesome, it doesn’t mean that everyone has to sleep with everyone else. It’s more about two people sharing the third party if I understand it correctly. Or at least that’s how Penny described her little adventures with Snape and Michel.”

“Oh.” In her stall, Hermione pressed her eyes shut and tried to keep still and silent as tears ran down her cheeks. She wished she’d never come here, wished that she’d stayed at Hogwarts were all was quiet and calm and no one bothered her.

“You know...” Hannah’s voice was suddenly hesitant.

“Yeah?”

“I was just thinking... you know, I – I saw Snape, just before we came in here. At the bar...”

“Uh-huh?” Caprice’s tone was going towards the nervous as well.

“Well, you know... I just thought... What do you think about maybe... you know, you and me... I mean, he’s supposed to be _really_ good.” Hermione sat frozen, her mind racing. She wanted to scream, to jerk open the door and tell the stupid girls to just stay away from what was hers. But she didn’t, and she didn’t know why. She just sat there, listening.

“I don’t know, Hannah,” the other girl said. “I mean, I’m getting married to Andrew in less than a month.”

“But you’re not married yet, and you don’t even love him! You’re just getting married because you have to, and Andrew’s not even here.” Her voice turned pleading. “Come on, Caprice, I really want to do this, but I don’t think I could do it alone...”

“You would hardly be alone,” Caprice said with a snort. “Sex requires two people, remember?”

“Yeah, but you know what I mean. I just –”

“What about _him_ , Hannah?” Caprice interrupted her friend, slight fear in her voice. “What makes you so sure he wouldn’t turn you – us – down? He’s married too, you know.”

“Yeah, to _Hermione Granger_!” Hannah retorted. “He’s married to the _know-it-all bookworm_ , and she’s pregnant on top of that! He’s probably desperate for a good shag by now.”

“But isn’t there a Fidelity Charm in the wedding ceremony?” Caprice asked. “Doesn’t that mean that he _can’t_ be unfaithful even if he wanted to?”

“Well, no. It’s not that kind of charm, only one that makes sure that any children born are legitimate ones. Basically, you can’t get pregnant by someone who’s not your husband, and the guy can’t knock up anyone else either. So actually, if you think about it, it makes having casual sex easier. No worries, no fuss!”

“But maybe they’re happy together. It wouldn’t be -” Hannah almost choked on a giggle.

“You can’t be serious. She’s frigid and completely boring in bed! Ron used to go on about how unsatisfied he was for _hours_ on end.” She let out another laugh. “Ok, so not hours, ‘cause I usually made sure to fix that – um – _problem_ before he got too whiny, but still...”

Something inside Hermione snapped. Legs shaking, she stood up, adjusted her dress and pushed the door open with a loud _slam_. The two girls by the mirror jumped at the sound and spun around, only to pale when they saw the girl in front of them. While they stood frozen in their spots, Hermione calmly washed her hands and reached for a towel. She then walked to the door, but just as she was about to grab the handle and walk out, she turned around, the swelling anger inside her pulling what felt like a red veil in front of her eyes.

“Word of advice,” she said, voice deceptively calm, fingers itching to reach for her wand. “Stay away from my husband... or I’ll make sure that Transfiguration becomes a _very_ unpleasant experience for the two of you next year.”

She managed to slam the door shut and walk to the end of the corridor before breaking down into tears. Vision blurred, she made her way towards the ballroom. She needed to talk to Severus and she didn’t care if she came across needy or jealous or any of the other things Parvati and Lavender had used to describe as “capital sins in a relationship”. Ron had cheated on her when they were going out – that alone had shaken her. She’d known they weren’t blissfully happy together, but she’d never thought that he’d go so far as to actually... She choked on a sob. The worst part wasn’t the actual deed itself, even, but the way he’d apparently talked about her to this (these?) other girl. She felt utterly betrayed, like someone had thrown her head first in a puddle and then kicked mud at her for good measure. How could he?! _I guess the old saying is true,_ she thought bitterly to herself. _With friends like this, who needs enemies?_. She leaned against the cold stone as another wave of shaking sobs overtook her. _Not Ron! Please, not Ron!_ She could hear the silent plea as though it was coming from an old record stuck on repeat. Her best friend at Hogwarts...

She could feel something break inside her - innocence shattered like a crystal jar hurled into a dungeon wall.

Without seeing where she was going, she moved across the floor, only to have her progress halted as she stumbled into a tall dark form, making them both crash against the wall.

***

She knew before even looking up that she’d found him. His smell seemed to wrap itself around her like a warm blanket. She raised her chin and saw worry pass over his face. She quickly wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand, taking a step away from him.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, trying to get the tears under control. Severus grabbed her chin, tilting her head back.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, a tense look on his face.

“I – It’s nothing... just – I just... in the bathroom, I heard – someone said... Please, could we just go somewhere else?” she pleaded, latching on to his arm with an almost desperate grip. He gently put his other arm around her and pulled her close, leaning in to press a soft kiss on her lips. The way she responded, falling into his touch, opening up to his kiss as a dried up flower would open up to rain, served to subdue any lingering doubt he’d had. Whatever had her so upset had nothing to do with his recent behaviour on the dance floor. He was safe.

Except, now he had a problem concerning what to do with the key in his pocket.

Scanning the room, he quickly saw a solution. Pulling Hermione (who refused to let go of his arm in a way which both pleased and annoyed him) with him, he swiftly crossed the room and caught up with the blond man before he walked out the door.

“Bruce, good thing I found you.”

The Australian turned with a smile, which then grew into a slightly puzzled expression as he laid eyes on Hermione. She looked back in equal bewilderment.

“I’m sorry,” Snape said, adding politeness to his voice. “Hermione, this is Bruce, a friend of Ron’s. Bruce, this is Hermione... my wife.” Understanding flashed across the other’s features and he smiled broadly, picking up Hermione’s hand and placing a quick peck on the back of it.

“A pleasure to meet you, Hermione,” he said, before turning to Severus. “So, what can I do for you, mate?”

Snape withdrew the key from his pocket and handed it over with a casual gesture.

“I need give this back to you. Much as I would have enjoyed a game of cards, I think my wife needs me right now. Would you be so kind as to give my sincere apologies to the other players? They should have retired for the game already.” Bruce accepted the key with perfect ease, slipping it into his pocket.

“That’s too bad,” he said. “I think this one was going to be quite spectacular. I’ll _deliver_ your apologies, though. No problem, mate.” His smile grew a little wider as he subtly emphasised the word. “I’ll better go up there right now. Wouldn’t be polite to keep the others waiting.”

“Thank you,” Snape said, and for once in a very long while, he actually meant it. Then again, this wouldn’t really turn out to be a sacrifice on the Australian’s part, quite the contrary. He could feel blood rushing downwards as a flash of his previous dance partner writhing underneath him momentarily cut off his vision. The flash was directly followed by a great surge of vexation directed towards the woman at his side.

“Well, I should get going then,” Bruce said. “Nice meeting you,” he added, nodding to Hermione. “Oh, and you know, mate, if you change your mind later on, you know where to find us, yeah?”

“Most certainly,” Severus answered, a slight smirk gracing his lips as he put an arm around Hermione and led her out of the ball room.

***

They ventured outside again, into the cool summer night. The moon was up and the skies were clear, the stars painting their surroundings a mystical blue. They walked silently, side by side, each preoccupied with their own thoughts and wondering about the other’s. After about fifteen minutes, the path they’d been following ended. They were standing on a cliff, looking down as the black water crashed rhythmically against the unyielding stone. Without thinking, she sank to her knees, hypnotised by nature’s display. Without a word, he drew his wand and conjured a thick blanket before joining her on the ground.

He rolled over on his back, looking up at the starry skies. It was peaceful, the sea and wind the only things breaking the silence. The alcohol coursing through his system made his muscles relax and his breathing grow heavy. The vivid irritation he’d felt when Hermione showed up was loosing its grip on him and the frown on his face straightened out. The lost opportunity didn’t seem as important anymore, as his body came to rest against the soft earth.

“Ron cheated on me.”

He’d almost forgotten she was there when her words jerked him out of complacency. So that was why she was so upset.

“How did you find out?” He rolled onto his side so that he could see her face. At present, it showed surprise. His answer clearly wasn’t the one she’d expected.

“I overheard a couple of girls talk in the bathroom. At least one of them slept with him when we were still together.” He could hear the pain in her voice, which sparked two reactions in him – as was so common these days. He concentrated on the part of himself which felt sorry for her.

“God, I’m so stupid!” she moaned, new tears coming from her eyes.

“Really, Hermione, I fail to see how your intelligence could have anything to do with this,” he said in a dry voice, getting a small smile from her.

“I know things weren’t perfect between us,” she whispered. “But why? Why did he betray me like that? How could he?”

“Why do you think?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. This elicited another heavy sob.

“She said he was miserable. That I couldn’t satisfy him.” Her voice faltered. “That I couldn’t satisfy anyone.” Her voice dropped even more until it was scarcely more than a whisper. “That I wouldn’t be able to satisfy you.”

Severus blinked in surprise. This was very far from what he’d expected. He reached out and wrapped his hand in her hair, twirling a strand around his index finger.

“And do you believe that?”

“I don’t want to believe it.”

“But you do?”

“It’s just – I haven’t forgotten the things you said... you know... back then, before we got married. And... I agree that the Perception Potion was a good thing... it made things easier – at first at least – but now... it just makes me sad sometimes, knowing that you’re with me without really _seeing_ me. And it makes me wonder if you would have fallen in love with me if you saw me as I am. Not pretty Hermione – just... me.”

There he was again, at another of those bloody moral crossroads. How did she keep putting him there, he wondered. He could choose to open up, tell her the truth and give her another lethal weapon with which to potentially harm him, or he could tell her something else, something reassuring, but which probably wouldn’t make her worries go away more than temporarily. But he would be safer... God! _This_ was why he’d tried to escape for a while, why he’d sought some mindless satisfaction from a pretty former student – to escape all those bloody _feelings_ that accosted his body every sodding time Hermione touched him. Every time they talked, every time he _thought_ about her even. It was exhausting and _frightening_ and he just wished it would stop. Wished he could just make it stop! An easy, casual, no-feelings-involved tryst had seemed just the ticket. With the added bonus of making a fool out of Weasley. Just a few hours where he could _forget_ , where he could let go of everything and make his mind blank and his heart stop aching. Just for a little while. Just to regain a little bit of control and to prevent himself from drowning in their new-found love. Just to keep himself intact, just to save himself a little. _Just to make sure he didn’t get completely lost._

“I do see you, Hermione,” he said softly, fixing her with his gaze. “I have ever since the night when you first felt my scars.” There it was, he thought. Yet another leap of faith taken for inexplicable reasons. How did she keep doing this to him?

“Really?” The hopeful light that shone through her eyes at that one word made his heart clench. It would be so easy to just lose himself in that warm light, to just give up and fall through unknown waters with her. But he couldn’t do that. Not now, not ever. He had to keep in control.

“Yes, I see you. And, Hermione, I won’t betray you,” he promised, stroking her hair, watching peace settle over her features. She captured one of his hands, and brought it to her lips, kissing each knuckle tenderly.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I can’t imagine how much it would hurt if you would sleep with another woman. I don’t think I could bear it.” He felt an unfamiliar pang of guilt shoot through him at her words. Another flash of Katie Bell-Weasley – this time with her hands tied to the headboard – flashed before his eyes and he swallowed harder than usual.

“Simply sleeping with someone else doesn’t constitute betrayal, Hermione,” he started, feeling it was important for him to get this point straight right away. “Betrayal is of the mind or of the heart – not of the body. Casual sex is just to fulfil a physical need. It has nothing to do with betrayal.” The happy smile she’d had on her face vanished in an instant.

“You don’t actually mean that, do you?” she asked, light panic in her voice. He sighed.

“Yes, I do,” he stated firmly, still holding her eyes. Angry fire was stirring inside them.

“So, if I were to go sleep with another man, just to ‘fulfil a physical need’, you would be ok with that?” she challenged. His face hardened.

“That’s different,” he stated coldly. She felt fury surge inside her.

“Really? How?”

“Because for _me_ , it wouldn’t mean anything. It would have nothing to do with you.”

“How could it not?! I’m your _wife_ Severus! How could it not have something to do with me?”

“Because I wouldn’t love her. She’d be a tool to gain satisfaction, nothing more.” The statement was low and piercing. She pulled in a sharp breath.

“And why shouldn’t it be the same for me?” she asked, defiantly.

“You know why, Hermione,” he growled, swiftly rolling half on top of her and pinning her to the ground. “To you – and most women I’ve known – sex is about _submission_. You submit, and accept and you give. You _accept_ the pleasure I grant you instead of taking it. You _plead_ and _beg_ rather than make demands, and you put your own release second in importance to mine. And when you submit your body, you automatically submit your heart.” He moved a thumb over her cheek in a slow caress and felt her shiver. He continued his path down along her neck and down her side, all the way down to the hem of her gown, where he slipped beneath the fabric to work his way up again.

“It’s very simple, love,” he whispered as his fingers worked their way up her inner thigh. “Penetration is a very intimate thing – much more so for a woman than for a man. You take something inside, _deep_ inside, letting it touch places over which you have no control. You open up a hole in your walls, physically and mentally, and once that first door has opened, you can’t keep yourself closed up anymore.” His fingers were inside her knickers now, pulling the fabric down her thighs before sliding back up to make his point more clearly.

“Once a man enters you, things change. You’re no longer alone in your body. He can affect you deeply, because he’s already inside – and there are only two ways for that to happen.” His thumb caressed her outer lips, spreading the moisture over her smooth skin. “Either you welcome the intrusion,” he murmured, applying pressure to her opening and feeling her muscles relax, allowing two fingers to slip inside with ease. He withdrew and pushed in again, eliciting a gasp and a low moan. “And by welcoming it, you submit. You open up, giving yourself over, placing yourself in my power.” He curled his fingers inside her, moving them in circles over her most sensitive spot. She shuddered, hands coming up to grab his face, trying to pull him to her for a kiss. He resisted, working his fingers faster, bringing her nearly to the brink before, suddenly, withdrawing them. She whimpered.

“Please,” she whispered, looking at him, eyes wide. He had made his point.

Without a word, he kissed her deeply, bringing his fingers back inside to finish what they’d started. She clung to him as she came, pouring her heart and soul into their kiss. Oh, yes, he had more than made his point.

“What’s the other way?” she asked when they lay still again, breathing going back to normal.

“To be taken by force,” he said simply. “Something I hope you’ll never have to experience.”

Another long silence followed this statement. They were lying on their backs again, not facing each other.

“I don’t want you to sleep with anyone else. I don’t want you to make _them_ feel the way you make me feel. I don’t want to share you.” Her voice was very low, but he still caught every word. Funny, he’d never thought of it like that before...

“It was so humiliating,” she whispered, turning towards him, “hearing two people I don’t even know very well discussing my relationships, _judging_ me. I just felt like such a fool, like everyone knew but me and that people were laughing behind my back. Which these two _were_ doing,” she added bitterly. He suddenly wanted to go back inside and find these two girls. Hit them with an assortment of hexes so that they wouldn’t be able to show themselves outside for a week at least. He knew what it felt like to have people laugh at you behind your back, knew the pain of judgement and rejection. Knew those wounds cut a lot deeper than physical violence.

He really hoped that he would be able to resist using this information against her.

That was the problem, really. All this _honesty_ and _understanding_. He wondered if she didn’t realise that she was, in fact, handing him her heart on a silver platter with a butcher knife on the side, or if this was all part of the self-destructive tendencies she’d spoken about after he almost killed her. He desperately wanted her to try to fight those impulses better – this way, she was practically inviting him to hurt her. Or so it felt. Maybe she thought that if she gave herself over completely, if she rolled onto her back and bared her throat, he would spare her, do the noble thing, not kick the person already on the ground.

He really, _really_ did not want to test that theory.

“Hermione, I know you love me, but do you _trust_ me?” he asked, face turned towards the stars, willing himself to look away from her.

“Yes.” She didn’t even hesitate. Too trusting, too innocent, a far too easy victim.

“Then will you trust me when I say that sometimes, doing something bad is a means to prevent something worse from happening.” She swallowed hard.

“What are you saying?”

“Tonight, earlier on the bench... when you refused me, I – well, I didn’t handle it very well,” he started, not quite sure how to explain or how much to tell her. “To hear that... right after I’d told you- only hours after I’d let you see- after I’d lowered my defences miles further than I’d ever done before... it was just... a slap in the face,” he said, still not looking at her.

“Severus, I’m –”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he stated, cutting her off. “Or rather, part of me wanted too hurt you too much. So I walked away, and tried to make myself forget...” His words trailed off into the night. She remained silent, a hand finding his and squeezing it in quiet support. That one simple gesture of respect served to make up his mind. She would have the honesty she wanted.

“I sought oblivion at the bar,” he began, his voice slipping into low caressing tones, as though he was telling her a shimmering fairy tale of places far away. “I didn’t even feel the burning in my throat for the first shots, but the effects remained faithful and I drank more, allowing myself to just be wrapped up in the haze, allowing my control to slip.” He paused, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb.

“Then there was a man, I don’t think he even knew my name, talking to me. He pointed out a girl on the dance floor, a former easy conquest of his. I watched her dance, and suddenly, it all seemed so easy. She seemed to be everything I needed right then: a tool to forget, an easy source of casual pleasure. No feelings, no thoughts, no respect even. Just someone I could use for the small price of letting her use me in return. So...” he kept his eyes fixed on the moon, “I asked her to dance. And we danced. And a meeting was arranged. I was on my way to join her when you arrived.”

He expected her to yell, or to cry, or to run off, or to try to curse him even. So when she remained still and silent, keeping the hold of his hand, he was very much surprised. Then she opened her mouth and true shock filled him.

“What was so terrible that this was the better option?” Her voice was trembling slightly, words catching in her throat as she asked the question.

Stunned by her reaction, his mind failed to stop the hand that smoothly withdrew a wand from inside his robes and put it to his temple. Without a word, without a single thought, it withdrew a long glittering strand of silver substance and then moved to connect with Hermione’s left temple. She closed her eyes and fell back into the memory. So did he.

_He was back inside the coal bin, watching the scene play out before his eyes. His father grabbed the wrought iron fork and he pressed his eyes tightly shut, waiting for the screams. They came, just as before, but the panic he’d remember didn’t get a hold of him the way it used to. A warm hand was holding his, squeezing it so hard he thought his circulation might get cut off. He turned his head and saw a girl, slightly smaller than him, with brown curls growing wild around her face and shoulders. She watched with him, eyes wide and horrified as the scene changed character. They huddled together, unable to lock out the visions or the sounds as the dark man proceeded to take by force what he considered to be rightfully his, ignoring the anguished howls from the woman beneath him. After what felt like a small eternity, the sounds of violence finally stopped, leaving a heart-wrenching echo of stifled sobs in their wake._

_“There now, sweetheart,” they heard the dark man’s voice whisper almost lovingly as he arranged the dishevelled woman’s robes and pulled her to her feet. “Please don’t make me do this again, I can’t bear to see you cry.”_

_“I – I’m so sorry, Julius,” the blonde choked out, trembling as she stood before him. “I’ll try to be a better wife, I’ll try –” Her fervent promises were cut off by a piercing scream and she fell to the floor, clutching her round stomach._

_“Trying isn’t good enough,” the man said harshly, aiming another hard kick at the area she desperately tried to protect._

_“Please, Julius, please stop! You’ll hurt her, our baby, she’ll -”_

_“I don’t want any fucking daughters!” he bellowed, kicking her again. “I told you to get rid of it if you found out it was a girl – that I wouldn’t tolerate any simpering useless little lasses in this house! I want sons – good strong sons, not like that scrawny little piece of shit that’s supposed to be my heir!” He reached down and grabbed a fistful of hair, jerking her to her feet. He held her still about a foot from his face, letting his eyes roam over her. His lips curled into an unpleasant smile._

_“Although, with such a pathetic excuse for a wife, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” he said coldly, released her hair and quickly left the kitchen. Celeste sank to her knees, tears pouring down her face._

_In the coal bin, the two children cried into each other’s arms._

***

They remained on the blanket, holding each other in a fierce and unrelenting embrace until dawn sent the first shots of gold and pink across the horizon. They lay silent, watching the sunrise, all words inadequate to describe what they’d seen and what they’d felt. They’d both been there – they both knew.

“I’m glad you found me when you did tonight.” Severus’ voice was hoarse, speaking for the first time in hours. Hermione raised her chin from where it’d been resting against his chest and met his eyes.

“So am I,” she whispered, giving him a small smile.

He didn’t say he was sorry for what he’d almost done and she didn’t ask for an apology. After what had passed between them during the night, she didn’t need excuses and she didn’t need any promises. They both knew they were past that stage now, that they had reached something deeper, and that they didn’t need to run anymore.

_They just might survive loving one another._

The thought seemed to course through both of them at the same time and Severus felt a smile creep across his face as he lowered his head slowly, taking the lips of the girl he now loved in a fierce kiss.

Taking a leap of faith had never before felt so liberating.

THE END

* * *

**Epilogue**

The creature was so tiny in his arms, and for the first time since leaving the innocence of a child behind, his initial reaction was to protect rather than to ruin. He gently touched the black tufts of soft hair and the impossibly small features and felt lightheaded, too much blood rushing to his head through the elevated rhythm of his heart. He was the strongest man on earth, and the weakest. The bravest and the most cowardly. The little face showed him everything that he was and had been - a tiny, perfect mirror - but the blue eyes held none of the pain or violence which had so marked his life. He knew that the blue wouldn’t stay, that the eyes would most likely turn to a dark or chocolate brown; but for now, he could look into them and see a version of himself that called for hope. Hope. He’d never thought such a feeling would ever be allowed to genuinely penetrate his armour.

It wasn’t the shock it could have been. His growing intimacy with the creature’s mother had opened up his heart for cracks of light to make it through occasionally. It hadn’t been easy, and it still wasn’t; he figured it most likely never would be. His life with Hermione was as full of destruction as it was of creation, the fight for control and dark impulses always present beneath the surface. He loved her now, down to the very core of his being, as one loves the life-giving sea despite its treacherous, fatal undercurrents and crashing waves. Like the sea, it spanned from the unyielding, deep currents of passion to the raging, black fury of a midnight storm and back to the smooth, silver tranquillity of the calm in a bay at the break of morning. To live like they lived, and to love like they loved, wasn’t always grand, nor was it painless, but they’d managed to make a life in the waters all the same. He looked for signs of his wife in his new-born daughter and found them in the details: the shape of an earlobe against his calloused thumb and the way her fingers curved as she grabbed at him; how a small tuft of hair behind her ear almost twisted itself into a tiny curl. As always with Hermione, she’d managed to sneak in past his defences and somehow infuse the child with her essence, which called to him like the sweetest of Siren song. He hadn’t held her more than a few minutes, and she’d already brushed past his strongest shields. Fighting the budding love he could already sense would be a losing battle. His worn heart was too tired even to try.

The blue eyes fixed themselves on his face and he felt stabbing pains go through him as he recognised someone else in the gaze. Not reborn, but remembered, his mother smiled at him through her granddaughter, and he couldn’t look away. Sadness and guilt broke inside him and a low vibration started somewhere in his gut, working itself upwards. He didn’t realise he was shaking from incontrollable sobs until the baby joined him, her cries slightly muffled from where she was pressed tightly against his chest. They cried for a long time together, the first time he’d experienced tears since the day so very long ago, when he’d watched life slowly seep out of his mother’s eyes and leave him stranded in the surrounding darkness. Drying his face on the back of his sleeve, he closed his eyes to collect himself, pressed a kiss on the child’s head and went back into the bedroom to join Hermione.

“Aisling,” he announced, handing the child to his wife and sitting down next to her on the bed. She looked at him in askance, and he could see the wheels turn in her mind, calling up facts from her inner library to see the meaning behind his choice. Frowning, she looked at the baby’s blue eyes and then back at him.

“Not Celeste, then?” She took his hand and he swallowed hard before answering, locking his eyes to the infant’s gaze once more.

“No.” His voice was hoarse and he struggled to master it. “That would be an illusion, and she’s not. Aisling is just right.”

She smiled then, leaning her head against his shoulder as his arms came up around the two of them. She breathed in the scent of him through the damp fabric of his robes and let herself fall into the sensations. Taking in the form of her daughter, she couldn’t help but agree with Severus. Not an illusion of what was or had been, but a vision to strive for, an opportunity to direct their paths towards something new. She imagined there would never be a fresh start for them or any true escape from darkness. She’d learnt over the past few months, however, that even darkness had its comforts, and that night time filled the world with dreams. She, too, pressed a kiss on her daughter’s head and moved deeper into her husband’s embrace. Aisling indeed.


End file.
